Writing a Winter Poem While Wishing It Were Spring

Snow Covered Hillside With Small Evergreens

by Iris Arenson-Fuller

-the Daughter-

Who is the wardrobe mistress up there
who dared to clothe our tree branches
in a new dress of snow and ice?
I have a bone to pick with her
and I’ll pick it clean so my little dog
will give me dirty looks for leaving
not even one bite of meaty scrap.
I’ve had enough, I’ll shout at her!

While I slept, faded blue comforter over my head,
dreaming of touching soft cloud edges
with the  gentlest fingertips, of floating down
to a bed of daisies that sang of springtime,
new snow was leaking out, sneaking out
from those very clouds that fooled me
into believing they, too, wanted clear skies
and warm, carefree days.
Outside the snow monster grew taller,
dancing wildly, cold laughter sending
a few lingering squirrels running
to their warm, waiting nests in terror.

-the Mother

I’ve had enough, she says.
enough shoveling out from under
years of life’s troubles that formed
a mountain range to climb,
enough of worrying about kids
who scraped knees, fell out of trees,
who moved on to live life, as offspring do,
enough of struggling to remember
just how many kids there were,
though she desperately wants to.

Enough of limbs that don’t listen now
or remember how to walk,
of the faces that whirl around in her head,
mocking her because she doesn’t know
if they are fairy tale characters
or people once cherished,
enough of ground up food with no taste,
newly bitter foods that kill sweet memories
of dishes created and eaten with
the sharpest pleasure,
enough of memories of bill piles that grew
and ate up dollar bills hidden in books,
to keep them from disappearing
with her husband at the corner bar.

Enough of those freshly degreed young folks
with braces still on their teeth, who show up daily
to work muscles too tired to care,
enough of prescription pad wielding pill pushers
who want to wave a magic pen
to make her weariness disappear,
replacing it with something that tries
to stretch a life already stretched too far,
that just wants to snap and let go.

8 thoughts on “Writing a Winter Poem While Wishing It Were Spring

  1. oh, Iris :) That is beautiful :) I still can’t help but “read” a voice of despair in all this :( well…. we all have those moments…..
    spring is coming… sooner than later :)



    • Thank you much, Dania. I think maybe there is some despair, but also some acceptance in this poem, and also a renewed desire to fight for what loved ones want, when we know them better than most professionals who work with them and when we want them to be alleviated of suffering, and at peace, and believe they have this right. Eventually we will experience this true winter of our existences.


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