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a poem by BZ Niditch


April steps out
of its breathless
shadowy earth
near the blue hills
on common ground
and am realizing
there is no bread
in the freezer,
my winter treasure
has been squandered
lost with rain and fog,
still the wish
for first light
on your threshold's
faded welcome mat,
or to hear Coltrane
with a coffee,
showers fill my hands
on the cold porch,
the snow gardens
like my frozen breaths
are disappearing,
a tremble with trees
in a canvas by Corot,
finding notes
in a foreign tongue
on the piano
and all familiar stuff
of nature,
the dead bird's wings,
the watery grass,
school children on ice
on the indigo pond
in the palest dawn,
windows with writing
of past red ink,
newly uncovered
on the granite table
by my diary
have a voice
in memory
for what we are really
searching for.

© by BZ Niditch
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #26 ~ April 2013    return to top