After stepping into the world again,
there is that question of how to love,
how to bundle yourself against the frosted morning-
the crunch of icy grass underfoot, the scrape
of cold wipers along the windshield-
and convert time into distance.

What song to sing down an empty road
as you begin your morning commute?
And is there enough in you to see, really see,
the three wild turkeys crossing the street
with their featherless heads and stilt-like legs
in search of a morning meal? Nothing to do
but hunker down, wait for them to safely cross.

As they amble away, you wonder if they want
to be startled back into this world. Maybe you do, too,
waiting for all this to give way to love itself,
to look into the eyes of another and feel something-
the pleasure of a new lover in the unbroken night,
your wings folded around him, on the other side
of this ragged January, as if a long sleep has ended.

About This Poem
"I should have called this poem, 'How to Trust Again.' How does one stay open and believe in love after a betrayal? It's a meditation on hope, really. Also, any poem I can fit my name into is a good one." -January Gill O'Niel

About January Gill O'Niel
January Gill O'Neil is the author of 'Underlife' (CavanKerry Press, 2009). She is executive director of the Massachusetts Poetry Festival and teaches at Salem State University in Salem, Mass.

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The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.

(c) 2014 January Gill O’Neil
Distributed by King Features Syndicate