Winter in Early Bloom

I keep waiting for change as if one evening
the sun will refuse to submit itself to the horizon
and only then will the road be bright enough
to drive down, like an adjacent alleyway, dim-lit,
but just bright enough to outline a path forward.
And all around the trees will fall consecutively,
each landing closer to the car as their tangled branches,
ripped abruptly from the trunk, crash onto the windshield.

Do you remember when the sun held itself
steady like birch trees in an unforgiving snowfall?
Do you remember when the trees held themselves
steady like untold secrets, fruit ripe, still-to-fall
into bare, unexpecting hands?

Slater Smith is a poet and student at Principia College in Elsah, IL. When he is not on campus, he lives in Golden, CO.

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