It can be hard to see the giftif the country you’re in is North.It can be hard to see the giftif cold walled you within a fortOf slouching and huddlingAnd turning towards ‘in’To seek refuge from ‘out’And bow low in chagrin.It can be hard to see the giftWhen love is all around,But stretched far into your distanceUntouched - lost, not foundIn chocolate or rosesThat drug stores now sell,Trying to say ‘alone’Is equally as swell.It can be hard to see the giftIf your faith calls you to walkToward the end before beginning.Marching forth begins to balkat commitment to let go,at commitment to commit,at the stretch of 40 daysBefore the gift can remit.It can be hard to see the gift,But I can sense it in the air.I can see it in the evening slantOf light that wasn’t there.‘February’s’ clunky witha mystery in the ‘r’.Is it shadowing a rodentas the sun blinks from afar?The gift we find in Februarymay press for searching longto find the glow, what’s preciousin the shivering, wintry song.If your find the gift in FebruaryDo fan the spark of longingto erect your selfand dissect the wallTo re-enter the world of belonging.
Susan Ceely Phillips