January 27, 2011
by David Filer


A sunny day
in late January.
Everyone knew
it would not last
but could not resist.
An old man
out in his front yard,
just standing,
perhaps looking
at the buds
already on the rose stems,
deciding how long
he can wait.


The depth of winter
is a riddle to be solved
by those who have time.


Now a school bus.
Now the gardener’s truck.
A man come to work
on the telephone wires.
Couldn’t it be Tuesday,
ordinary as can be,
except for the sun,
low in the sky still,
and brilliant, like glass?

Copyright 2022 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.