Brent Pallas


Mrs. Claus

could I
have known
it would be like this?
Always a pattern
of deadlines and late
nights forever breaking the bread
of haste. Idle moments too
small for hands to hold. Every
clock ticking bewilderment like a toy.
Am I impatient? A north wind
plumps my cheeks like a rose as the night
deepens its well. Curled beneath
the weight of winter blankets he takes
my hand the way an old trumpet recalls a familar note.
His old sack filled with the burden
of desires now as the evergreens begin to glisten
and bow in the moonlight and departure
his footprints
with snow.

End of the Year 2007 Savant Card



  The 2River View