Poetry Porch: Poetry


by Caroline Hurley

Snug in fleece and wool I walk in winter.
Ice is cracked on puddles.
Breath steams before me.
Growth is exhausted.

Sycamore trees line the pared-back path,
stripped of their broad green leaves.
Ragged clumps of twin kernels cling on —
brown helicopters
to coil down yet.

Everything is still. Visibility couldn’t be better.

Then all of a sudden, what looked like remnants —
russet bark stuck, or stubborn seeds —
ascend in synch from branches,
flocking to different perches,
disturbed by me.

Masks the finches wear
stir the latent tree to life.
The little birds, their piercing chirps
and beating hearts, change
the whole scenario.

Copyright © 2016 by Caroline Hurley.