January Blues (Poetry)

It is a haunted month
of birthdays no longer celebrated —
those dates death and love’s forced absence have vacated
their relevance since demoted
to memory which still can’t quite ignore
the stain of numbers quoted
the silent calendar
blankly totting up the score
of passing years — the raw-edged sting of loss
no easier to endure

The month broods its long dark night
linked by spells
of candle-burning thought
blue flames that bring no comfort
the empty squared-off days
a grey-slabbed pavement stretching on and on
that I must walk without tears
or ever treading on the cracks
at the risk of getting caught
by childhood’s phantom bears

Looming ominous and awkward
I have strategies to avoid
the set parade of winter ghosts
like crumbling celluloid
with a sad narrator’s voice
and yet stubbornly they linger on my diary’s page
unwritten in the margin — blood will claim
old rhythms keeping time
my inner clock forever ticking off
a list of names