The Forgotten Woman

Springs' wind combs barren trees
and scratches white into a pale blue
sky. A still weak sun seen through
glass, makes for a dull
picture of quiet.

Go on a walk with the wind.
A stream of air will glide around
your face carrying bursts of scented
ground. Curls of melting snow
scattered in shadow strewn
spots puff out cold as you pass by.

What purpose these walks into
a loud, brown day? You are pacing
forward, trying to find that person
who will drop into the damp,
backyard wicker chair, closing
her eyes to feel the sun, curling
bare feet into cool grass.

The one who will pull weeds until
she is tired and gulp lemonade,
rolling the glass into the grass
so she can doze off. The woman
who talks to her neighbors and leaves
windows open to hear birds.

You forgot, didn't you?
Until the wind pressed your face
with smells and the currents of
warmer air slowed your walk
enough, to find her.