On How the Present Might Look When It Becomes The Past. A poem by Amanda McLeod

Yesterday is gone, slipping down behind the first rays of
Xanthic dawn. In this moment of potential I cannot help but
Wish for Spring again; bedecked in flowers, wreathed in
Verdant foliage, she seems more fitted to this time of
Urgent rebirth than the fading leaves and shortened days of Autumn.
Through the windows, colours ripple in a
Stately dance; from inky night to April sunrise, foliage green to
Rusty ferrous orange, overexposure to lilac shadows.
Questions bloom; I wonder how historians might
Portray these days, and whether in a hundred years
One might unearth journals of this era and decide there is
Nothing of value to be learned from these days.
Many now hark back to darker days of depression and plague,
Looking for answers to questions of duration and how we’ll
Know when the end is nigh. So far none have found them.
Jewels of rare beauty are emerging in these quiet hours, ones
I’m certain to have missed if my mind were otherwise engaged, like
How the morning creeps in later, and the rose-to-blood striations on
Geranium petals as they fall from spent high-summer blossoms.
Fair, this gift of learning to love silence, for those who seek
Eternal distraction from the emptiness of their lives. Will things be
Different, on the other side of winter, having spent it in the
Confines of our homes and relearning what it means to
Be human, be alone, be together, be still, be silent, be aware?
All of us can only live in hope.


Amanda McLeod is an Australian author and artist, and the Managing Editor of Animal Heart Press. Find out more at amandamcleodwrites.com

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