February 21, Every Year


Today you emerged
from hibernation.
I felt you tapping
the shoulder
of my memory.

Look, you said,
I am
swept under the heartbeat
of memory, sleeping,
covered by hours
then by days
finally by years
until my laughter
fades from memory
and the sound of my voice
is lost.

I am only noticed
when February cuts into
your heart
or in my picture
one sided and posed.

You look for me
across the mountain top
as if my ashes are what
seed the ground
and I can feel
the pilgrimage
of your feet
upon my soul.

Your heart beat
is me
and the ache
in womb
the full blue vained
breast of remembering
is where you can find me
and I will always be there
trust your tears.
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Reposted every year in loving memory of Michelle