Ericka Clay

Here I am, stilled in my December

waiting for the stirrings of a life

I already know is true. Have I lost

You? No, I’ve just placed You away

For the sick sadness of my mind’s

eye. Always weeping and never

keeping focused on what a body

grows in the ground, how the soil

Shakes until the signs of new life,

break forth like fingers reaching mid-air.