richard pierce

richard pierce

25 February 2016

February

Not a day seems to have passed since
I last put pen to paper for you,
For the passing of yet another year,
For you growing beyond me,
Past my understanding.

February.
It’s a month of standing still,
Waiting for spring to come,
For the light to come sooner,
For winter to be over, finally,
A month where minds wander and get lost,
Too often.

Not a day seems to have passed since
The phone call came, in the middle of a blizzard,
My stomach full of spare rib and two glasses
Of cold sparkling wine,
And you appeared, from nowhere almost,
So suddenly, two hours and ten minutes
Of labour that wasn’t mine,
And two hours in a room, just you and me,
And my thoughts with your mother,
Dying and resurrected with donated blood,
Red stuff, and no sleep,
And three children at home waiting.

February.
It’s a month of stasis,
Of waiting for nothing
Until nothing happens,
A month of dreariness
Because winter will not end.
Until you came, that is.

For Alex on her birthday.

R 25/02/2016