by Kevin T McEneaney
Winter, the season of introspection,
sweaters, stews, oatmeal, and snow shoveling.
Sled grooves on a hill, squirrel prints on lawns,
a cardinal high up on a tree branch,
the soft voice of my mother calling me,
the onset of early sudden darkness….
*
Wrapped, bowed boxes under the Christmas tree
strung with colored lights and bright ornaments,
my younger brother dancing in frenzy
at the excitement of piled presents
and I sworn not to tattle on Santa
as I eyed the snow coating on the road.
*
Still puzzled by the purpose of my life,
I retreated to read Oliver Twist.
