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Mary Frederick Ahearn

Winter Heart

Quietly, gently, dismiss these unruly thoughts of love. Sidetracked by a certain song, a subtle scent of spring in the late January air, it’s hard to resist that path, but do, save your heart, keep it to yourself for yet another healing season. Think instead of the bluebirds you first heard, then saw in the fields today. The flash of cobalt and burnt sienna, feathered joy. They flew higher up in the bare branched trees, but then stayed with you for a short while. Think of the great hawk, silver white and gray, who spotted you far off as you tried in vain to take a photo. Soaring away into the azure, circling, flying in higher and wider arcs above you, growing smaller, then out of sight until just a memory.  Like love.

going nowhere
these days of no other voices
than those in your head
a bird in a leafless tree
this past tense life

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About the Author

Mary Frederick Ahearn lives in Pottstown, Pennsylvania. “Writing is a great joy to me, and with it, the interaction with wonderful poets from all over the world. Reading, photography, and being out in the natural world are delights and solace for this introverted soul.”