S o m e t i m e s   i n   W i n t e r

[ In memory of Siobhan ]

Sometimes in that empty chair
I see you curled
My Hartford child,
Curled with a twist of hair
Twirled about a finger
And your eyes watching me
And the fire going down
And the snow coming down still
On that dark Connecticut winter
When the logs were frozen together
Out back behind the barn.

Sometimes I feel I cannot live on
Through these long empty winters
Wondering where you are
My Hartford child.
Oh but I do live on
Through long empty winters
Filled with other children now,
I do live on and as I break the logs
I notice how each year they are heavier,
How each year the fire burns colder.

Sometimes in my empty chair
I call to you,
My Hartford child,
Ghost, lie down and die,
You are dead these many years.
You are cold bones in the cold
Winter clay of Connecticut...
But you do not lie down or go away!
No matter the oceans and lifetimes between us,
Your tiny fingers reach to me from the clay
And you wait. And we come closer. Day by day.

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