PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am in the winter sun by this window.

Mom walks in, wrapped in layers.

I’m going to go take down the Christmas lights.

Not surprising.

It’s January, after all.

But something in me still sinks.

Another ending.

The front door opens.

Closes.

I breathe. One, two.

Opens.

She’s back in before I can blink my eyes.

Or maybe that’s just how the time seems to fall

in this corner of the house, light

scattering along the floor, my skin.

Reading for hours on winter afternoons does that to the clock somehow.

I thought you were taking the lights down?

She turns. Tilts her head.

I’m done.

Isn’t it funny

how endings are so much faster than beginnings?

Like taking a hook off the roof is so much easier than putting one up.

Like somehow

I lose people faster than I meet them.