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The Red Lion

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The Red Lion

A friendís toddler
pulls a toy
around my kitchen island.

Turning away,
I look out the window
into the anemic afternoon light.

Shifting my gaze,
to an amaryllis sittting
on my table top,
I admire how
the sun brightens
the vibrant green stalk.

My white-faced hound
flaps his ears and
walks away from my feet
as my sigh tiptoes behind him.

The sagging
snow covered branch
stares-in at my chair
mirroring my expression.

Outside, the white latticed world
seems to shakes
with hopeful laughter
as the wind blows
on my aching heart.

Encapsulated I sit,
waiting,
for the clouds to pass
the painted feather pines.
And for the blue sky
to open up
to the face of the red lion.

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