Poetry

Godsend

Olivia Byard

 

Just when I was feeling it was all too much,

I woke up to snow. The dog in a drift

gave me my first smile as my eyes

encountered the garden.

                    She was eager for a walk

so we ploughed our way out, and all

around the streets were shouts

from children, with sledges and snowmen,

                    while their parents talked

on doorsteps or mended things

that had waited for a day like this.

                                  A boy confided,

as he patted the dog, “it’s like Narnia now”,

and I saw, with a shock we were

out of the wardrobe, every branch

laden, proud.

         “If only it were Christmas,”

a small girl sighed, “it would be perfect.”

                                Tomorrow,

as warm air invades, this snow will melt 

to reveal the debris underneath,

but as I took off my gloves and put away

the lead, I leaned, for just a second,

against relief.