Some Years

Some years

Are for the breakdown

The letting go and letting in

The creaking sounds of winter beneath your soles once again

As you walk alone accompanied

By the hollow depths of the grief you thought you had mastered

And yet there are still unmet edges of your well-worn sorrow

Some years you get to know your will

Your leaving of what isn’t meant for you

Because you vow never to stay in a withering place

Some years you till soil for the soul

You imagine dawn

the colors they’ve told you are spectacular

they are calling

A January poem waits

You go to bed, cold feet searching for something familiar

and you

pray once again

This time without words

They aren’t needed where you are going

The surest promise of a new moon rising.

- Clare Johnson