Thresholds Hidden in Wreaths
A poem about keeping a Christmas wreath up in February, finding life in what appears dead, and the gentle procrastination of letting go
The evergreen wreath still hangs on my door
the pine stopped making its sharp fir scent
a while
I haven’t noticed its presence for months
the Christmas cheer faded
past
the string of lights hugging the deep green leaves
wrapping tight still
gaudy in mid-February
I brush the greenery
pull the browning tips
releasing like a spring
They still breathe in the belly-
an emerald green
It’s hard to let go
I push it up
off the hidden nail on the door
Heavier than I remember-
Satisfied at its weight
in
my hands
I set it on the entryway bench
walking away
It can stay a little longer
until the ice melts
and it’s time to plant cucumbers
About the Creator
Michele Nampalli
This space is breath for my sensitivity. The poems come fully formed. I've known for quite some time now that my art is about receiving more than creation...its the most natural way I know to process my inner world. It started when I was 7.
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More stories from Michele Nampalli and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwin8 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This was a beautiful poem and reminded me I need to take down the wreath on my front door.