When the sun

A poem I wrote last month. Out of season now, but I remember the feeling well. For dverse.

 

I remember when the sun

had lover’s hands

that warmed the skin

and teased the knots

out of bones grown winter cold.

I cover my face from this pale crone

who pinches cheeks

with fingers gnarled

as a dead oak tree.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

36 thoughts on “When the sun”

  1. Aww, that’s awful! Thank goodness I get summer-sun year-round. There are almost no days the sun doesn’t have lovers’ hands down here. 🙂

  2. Mee too, Jane – a strong, well-realised write that reminds us how lucky we are that Spring is on the way… And, in that sense, very timely too… Thank you…

  3. There are those who adore winter. I am not in that club. For me, winter has always been aggressive and obtrusive, preventing me from driving comfortably, and kicking up my energy bills; old crone indeed.

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