Charcoal Days

*Photo credit: Keith R. Good.(Photos by Keith Good Facebook Community Page)

Memory glimpses – stark,

a charcoal sketch. I see
the scene, bare trees,
dormant, death reaching up.
Grass, just shreds of itself,
green gone, done, dark,
dead.

I said Mama, the grass died.

Heart sick, I look to her.
She said not dead, it comes
back.  Years of winter disbelief -
but spring came and I did
see. 

I live in a place where grass

does not die, doesn’t give up,
where trees leaf all year.
Hope of Spring comes,
brings expectation. I wait
for winter to give up.
I wait for my son to come
home.