Season of small gains
In a land of small victories.
Flakes lag the sky
And tortoises hibernate,
Their hearts slowed
To eleven beats a minute;
Eleven tentative beats
Ticking into March.
A writer gauges her face
In the bathroom mirror.
She leans on the taps
Which dribble solid water
Then goes back to the study
With stamped palms :
Reversed P on the one hand,
O on the other.
Pancake day.
Clouds stumble over hills
And then thin.
Snow, after filling bowls
Left outside kitchen doors,
Is sifted into batter.
Small hearts lurch
Into twelve beats a minute.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm sure you'll work that out.