Metamorphosis

The skies have already fallen as I look out the window and it’s the depression I feel as I start another poem. Old limbs must be cleared before patches of grass can grow. I think of a woman I’ve known and wonder how our soft conversations turned to silence of stone. Still, I must admit she’s a good person— we both are good, but something has gone wrong. We met last fall and now I sit alone amid a long, hot summer. I sit at my laptop looking for something positive to say. I find a line, and put it on the page and the poem becomes the poem when I let it be what it wants to be. I look for a deeper meaning and contemplate my life. The lawn outside is a collage of patches of greens and browns living and dying. A tree branch dances in a gust of wind but I must admit the world I’ve known will never be the same.