just passing time
listening to the crackle
of the candle’s wooden wick,
and the boy’s joyous cackle
in the next room.
The Friday sun worked wonders on
last Sunday’s blizzard that called for a Monday Sabbath.
After snoozing away the week’s morning,
the city felt restless,
if tired from digging herself out
from too much God.
So let us uncover hope—
such a beautiful form, how warm!
The grapes I now eat
are ripe and sweet,
while my beloved
sips red wine,
a story of survival in her hands
and mind.
Meanwhile, the icicle out front
is a broken finger on home’s hand,
fragile but joined.
The night peers through the glass
of ice as flecks of light
from streetlamps
appear as sparks in the paralyzed cold.
Tomorrow I will sleep in.
For now, this is how I want to pass the time.
just passing time
by troy cady
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