Winter is here and I ache.
The embers shift, grow faint.
The trees are covered
waiting in layers of white.
The shovel leans against the house
calls you to step outside
to lift and lift the grayness that grew so great
the sky so wide and so knowing
could no longer resist, let go
spilled itself over the walkways and roads
calling you to work
digging up paths and clearing windshields
so the people can know where to go.
But I am here and I ache.
Why not leave
the people to their own, let them
freeze if they must.
Come inside and be with me
where we can sink
and rise and become
leaves that tumble on a river
the ones that made it through
the mean Winter thaw.
Laura Gido Taddei studied French and Italian at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, the Université de Paris VII, and the Scuola Per Stranieri in Siena, Italy. Her poetry has appeared in the Schuylkill Valley Journal. She has four kids, a husband, and two cats. She lives and works in the suburbs of Philadelphia.