About the Poem
Sometimes you lose friends before you really have a chance to have them. Only the ache remains.
Carol: Christmas, 1999
|by Ted Reynolds|
|Her hands move through the thicket with care
Weeding and pruning the prickly hedges,
Restoring, against entropy, some semblance of order.
She offers me a running commentary.
One blossom is snipped because it doesn't measure up:
One to be displayed where its perfection can show;
One is taken that its neighbor may better bloom.
She warns me to use gloves when sorting out this tangle.
Not relishing the carving of thorns, I do protect my hands.
Before the year ends, she too is snipped.
I never learned to wear gloves on my heart.
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