This winter doesn’t feel the same
Winters are here again
but don’t feel the same.
What felt like grief last year
this time feels like the advent of Spring.
The view of the buildings —
reminders of the lost skylines —
have now turned into vast empty fields
promising immense possibilities.
I don’t need a pumpkin latte today
to keep me awake.
For the to-dos of the upcoming Summer
don’t let me sleep.
I haven’t seen the sun or its shine
since yesterday.
Yet the warmth inside me
keeps sadness at bay.
And fuzzy stockings
and mufflers
are out of the closet.
Yet half-sleeve t-shirts
are lying on the bed.
For inside me, there’s an invisible blanket
of sweet nothings and memories
made today and yesterday,
looking forward to the ecstasy that’s following.
The future holds
so much in-store,
that what’s lost
I can’t withhold.
And the blooming flowers
in my new balcony
fill my heart with glee —
what a strange autumn I’m seeing.
Where trees are green
and gardens are lush
and ginger tea
is no longer the need
to pass wintertime
that never (earlier) rhymed
with my Spring-like personality.
While a Cottage Fairy
somewhere in D.C.
plucks wildflowers
to make her last chamomile tea,
I breathe deep
the smell of white plumerias from my garden
not ready to give into this year’s winter-grief.
