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After sliding through January
February seems endless.
Snow inches past bird baths,
buries the mailbox.
On the windowsill
pepper seeds sprout,
cotyledons emerge,
unfold green wings
that will fly us to spring.
From Duluth: Zenith City and Beyond (Poetry Harbor, 2023).
Used with permission.
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Jan Chronister, now retired from teaching writing, is the author of three full-length poetry collections and nine chapbooks; the latest are The Book of Eunice, about her mother, and Land of Cotton, Land of Snow, the fourth in her annual series of "year in review" chapbooks. Gardening keeps Jan "grounded", as she puts it, and often provides inspiration for her poems. Jan and her husband of 50+ years divide their time between far north Wisconsin and South Georgia.
          
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Jo:
Love those green wings that will fly us toward spring.
As always, Jan, a pleasure to read your poems.
Posted 02/16/2024 10:53 PM
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Lori Levy:
Creates a whole picture with a few short lines. Beautiful.
Posted 02/16/2024 01:00 PM
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peggy.turnbull:
I love Jan's poetry--her turns at the end never fail to move me. This poem is a case in point.
Posted 02/16/2024 11:50 AM
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carlpalmer:
Lovely, Jan, "green wings" nice
Posted 02/16/2024 11:40 AM
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Judy:
Jan, your poem is a lovely picture definition of hope! Also, I am inspired by your poetry collection titles!
Posted 02/16/2024 11:14 AM
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CamilleBalla:
Those last two lines! So well crafted.
Posted 02/16/2024 10:56 AM
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Gilbert Allen:
That final image is compelling.
Posted 02/16/2024 08:40 AM
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NormaB:
This poem perfectly captures my minds view of winter, the long haul to spring.
Posted 02/16/2024 07:28 AM
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Wilda Morris:
Well-done, as always, Jan!
Posted 02/16/2024 07:12 AM
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