Recently, someone asked if I would post some of my own poetry on this blog. I offer the following poem to that someone, as well as “To you strangers…” as Dylan Thomas addressed his readers in his Author’s Prologue. Though, above all, I offer these meager words to Didi, whose absence is marked each month, thereby, keeping her present throughout the year.
In this short month
of your birth
we recount your life,
which, to you, seemed longer
than it was.
Just as February, with its full moon
and empty woods,
to us, seems longer than it is.
Contrary to March, April, and May
that hop, skip, and jump
like children in its wake,
its only bloom is the gem
still on the bone of your finger.