April 4, 2016 § 1 Comment
December, with its thawing cold
biting down your ankles,
shackled numb to your winter boots.
Around the dinner table,
silent words hanging off your lips,
each breath the reminder – you exist.
Twinkling lights of a Christmas tree,
fireplace warmth, against all lost – empty tables,
empty chairs, the empty words of our lives.
December, with its thawing cold –
it leaves me an empty mess
on a doorstep of the past.
Based off the official NaPoWriMo prompt of the day:
In his poem “The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life.