Ode to February

Flying and dragging at the same time; getting nowhere.

Ode to February


Shortest month that feels three eons long--
time may feel as if to fly, and yet, and yet
February stretches out its hands. As if
to drag days and weeks to itself, as if
to hold the brutal cold to freeze frame itself
into existence, into permanence. Time warps.

And yet, and yet, when I am in Maui,
the days fly by in fast-forward,
blurring into merged images of sunsets
and warmth.Time condenses on itself
like droplets surfing down the outside
of a mai-tai. Transient.

Fingers, toes once frostbitten feel
the cold. Mind-numbing cold no jacket
can warm. No scarf can shield. Gloves
do nothing more than hold ice in.
Brain freeze taints attitude, and feeling.
Frozen in time and place.

Time does, inexorably, go on, even if
in stop-motion fashion. Thawing waters down
the glaciers in my mind. Indeed, it will happen
again if/when February passes into the past.
And next year, the month will melt into Maui time,
passing all too quickly but at least, at last
I shall be warm.









Prompt: Ode to February with no specific form necessary