Seasons and Holidays Past items (poems and prose)
are in this journal.
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In cold weather, I fight a brutal climate shivering in the desperate snow as I note dead trees and barren soil telling me another season will take its place soon as I remain holed up in woods, burning barrells that smell like the ones I used to warm myself at, rubbing my gloves against each other, in the small park near the police station where ice-skaters had their hearts set on a full day of gliding on the ice I fish for change in my pocket with a kleenex in it watching a single goldfish in a glass bowl it reaffirms that I am barely making ends meet moaning with a cut-and-dry subject like an outrageous gasbill my laughing Buddah is smiling he knows of my ghosts in this town, relishing my own life without fear of hate yet hidden in photographs of relatives safe from harm and criticizm over who had money and who didn't a stuffed teddy bear I picked up at a forgotten carnival appears to be spreading its legs as I fondle it to put it back on the backboard of my knotty pine bed, thick with memories summer insects are last season's history sometimes, it is frightening |