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 |   A 52-week poetic adventure… |
| February, month of my birth, A month of love, supposedly. In the Northern hemisphere, its days are brief: Winter's tail end burdens my weary mind With creeping shadows. Every year around this time I get the irrepressible urge to run away, Seeking escape even in narcolepsy. What am I running away from? Myself, mostly. But wherever I go, there I am. Another year older—no wiser than before. Elusive peace, glimpsed between smoke and mirrors, A moment alone before falling asleep. In Florida, February's weather is dismaying: Steamy bursts of dreaded early summer Collide with dreary grey days of endless winter. Desperately I cling to waves of greening life— (I never realize how Florida dies in winter Until it sprouts again. Evergreen is a lie—unless you're in Miami.) Unexpected, unidentified showering pink blossoms Ever so briefly Decorate massive trees tangled in moldy Spanish moss. Simultaneously, ragged live oaks dump Mounds of last year's leathery brown leaves— Behold: spring and autumn swirl together at my feet— Bewilderingly! Such is my Florida February. 28 lines, 170 words, free verse. Prompt: must be titled "ode to February." |
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