A Dry Winter

The blue days groaned on heavily,

creaking like knees rising up after prayer.

She expected the weight of the days to lighten,

but heavy they remained, no relief, just a

steady waterfall of bitter blue.

February used to be a juicy red, a late winter

strawberry, covered in honey. But that was

when winter had snow, when the cathedral

bells woke her gently. Now, she waits in the

blue, alone in the basement with nothing but time.