A poem for this in-between week
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedDecember 28th, 2025
The snow has turned to rain
here, and I'm missing you
Here in this week in between
Christmas and New Year's
Where things stop and start
confusingly
And I try to figure out
when the library is open, and the gym
And when to call which doctor—
what to tackle, what to put off
As I fight—you know me—existential dread
about love and death
And why we have to be apart
with so few years left together—
I'm sorry.
That's not the reason I'm writing.
I wanted to tell you that the tree, somehow
is as green and fragrant as ever
And its lights shine in the dark evenings
Which are becoming
Slowly, slowly
More bright.