A Hope That Lives in A Blade Of Grass

There is a deer

eating the green that sprouts inconsistently

in the wood behind my home.

From my window,

I watch as its half starved body

attempts to recover from winter,

stepping slowly here and there.

Hardly lifting its head

from the task.

Not greedy, just in need.

Nature’s garden giving hope

for this creature to live,

living just an act of endurance;

enduring the consequence that is life.

I sit here at my window

finding myself comparing

its feeding frenzy

to how I feel when I touch

your skin.

How your kiss pulls my breath

and yet gives my soul life in great gasps.

I know my longing

to be a hard winter

though I endure instead of moving on

to a climate more forgiving.

Letting your short attention span

which finds me once a week if I’m lucky

(but oh, how I love the days that you give me),

or the breakfast you once made me

be a gift that keeps giving

like the hope that lives,

for the deer,

in a blade of grass.

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