a poem by Pamela Sumners

There is a girl clinging like
an icicle to your porch.
There is a girl kneeling
in your church, or keeping
her time by your watch.
There is a girl with boots
crunching ice, wanting
scorched August, thinking
twice about you, always.
There is a girl who shivers,
quivering, who never wavers
in this weather, all of it,
for you–hoar-frost
crushing magnolia leaves
we lost. She’s there,
malingering the chill on
your tree, one constant
climate, calm, there, still.
One spring-green thing
whenever it’s chill.
Calm, calm, calm, so still.

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