March 25, 2015 § Leave a comment

twice      by

the first
       a swift clean flick 
not remembered
– a slice of history
   driven into the depths
by trauma of arrival
    the second
a slow
arduous cut that
replays every time
buds crown
thawing ground
below the window 
she would open
after long months
of dim light and stale air
that first renewing breath
set aside 
to be doled out over
the course of the coming 
     in easy laughter
     and whispers of love
     for grandchildren’s ears
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

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