Another Winter Day

The sun is a sleepy child yawning
before an afternoon nap.
A cold draft sneaks inside,
another uninvited visitor
who always stays too long.

8 A.M.

Five hours from now
she'll expect to find her
in the familiar room
like an obedient dog
or a beaten child.
But she has learned new tricks
and she will not be there
beneath the buried bones
she has yet to comprehend.
Five hours from now
she might realize,
classify or crucify.
But will it matter
if she is unable to speak?
Like Maya Angelou
or another bright child,
innocence lost
shocked into silence.

Northern Comfort

She warms milk on the stove,
pours it in her mug,
cherishes soft oatmeal
cookies filled with cream.

In the distance, the clicks
of hockey sticks on ice
create an odd comfort
on a cold snowball night.

   

 

                                                                                                � Sandi Blakemore-Baig

Loch Raven Review Spring 2006 — Vol. 2, No. 1
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