Purple Mountain of Despair

Bring the war home!
The war wages inside.
Yet sometimes this whole war is just you and I:
Trying to find our own place in our lives,
and learning that some wars
never end.

Sit in your pajamas in the middle of the afternoon,
and contemplate the potential symbolism
of making out in a history museum.

spring has a special way of breathing for you.

summer has a special way of sticking to you.
of staring at you through plates of glass offering no protection at all.
it’s hard to breathe, hard to think.
ice melts so quickly these days,
so you rely on simple saviors — a soft breeze or a fan,
a kiss if you’re lucky.
it’s a time of dichotomy — a time to know what you’ve lost,
remember what you have,
and sweat until fall to reconcile the two.

then fall has a special way of fading into winter.

winter has a special way of consuming you.
of trapping you where you are and forcing you to accept it.
of calling up a new set of simple saviors —
hot cocoa, thawed cheeks, and
locked hands under the quilt your grandma made your mom.
it’s a time to crawl — inside, or up against,
only forward if you manage to stand tall knowing
that spring will bring something new.

and love, it seems, has a special way of reminding you
exactly what season it is.