January

The sparkle that marks her beginning
transforms into a dreary old cloak
that drapes her shivering shoulders
like a shroud.
She slogs slowly forward,
dragging day after dismal day
through clouded skies,
that frown upon an earth
gone silent.
Her frosted fingers
curl stealthily through walls
and window panes,
etched with the crackled crust
of her bitter breath.
And those held in her grasp
struggle to remember
a time when the world
was supple, sweet
and new.

01/05/12

Susan Jarvis
Oh, how you capture the cold melancholy of dismal January in this admirably crafted poem. Wonderful stuff!

magnolia
'etched with the crackled crust of her bitter breath'..great line and I really like this Kate ..I felt like this about January, but as it is my birth month I try to feel more upbeat about it ! Maggie