Hibernate
I used to look for the good. To turn my face towards the sunlight and seek warmth.
But recently the days are long, dragging, leaving scuff marks on the polished wood floor.
I feel haunted by a future that has not come to pass,
and I wake every morning with the fear that it has.
I wonder how I’ll react.
If I’ll scream or sob or simply stare—
if glassy eyes will stare back.
I drive myself mad wondering.
But today, I sit with my father in the backyard.
Today, we are alive and breathing.
Today the air is warm and smoky, and I’m not sure if it’s my father’s cigarettes
or the wind carrying the trees’ scent.
A Mourning Dove cries overhead,
and I worry it’s an omen.
But today, I just listen.
Today, I let my heart go still.
Today is warm in the midst of February,
and I remind myself that animals wait for this too.
To burrow and sleep through the harsh winter because the snow will one day thaw.
Though not today,
they know soon it will end,
and will feel the sunshine upon their faces again.