Waiting for Light

I grow a little smaller every year. 
When December blows in on snow-clad feet,
damping the sun
and all the earth seems to shudder, hunker down
bracing against the snow,
the long dark. 

I grow a little smaller every year.
All the summer sun revealed in me,
all that was kind, outgoing, exuberant,
is hidden in shadows, light-starved
I do not remember my good heart
only all that I have failed. 

Trees entrenched against the cold
wrap the deep earth around themselves,
let loose their leaves to save them from
the deadly weight of snow,
limbs flying free
I watch them from my window,
waving in the wind, limned in crystals of white.
Watch squirrels prancing branch to branch,
bright black eyes, simple lives
Finding food, feeding tiny babies hidden
somewhere. 

I grow a little smaller every year,
Watching out my window, years
Darkness, years. 
Forget, ignore, avoid, distract, make flight;
The dark, the memories, cruel, biting. 
Each December scars collect on scars
And I wrap myself around them,
Holding tight, bound,
to tissue that might burst apart
if I let go. 

Bound, tight; I grow a little smaller every year. 

Kathlean Wolf, 29 December 2012