she makes poems

January
rolls in,
all brand-new,
laughing
to land
center-stage
on her belly.

Fresher than
what came before,
longer than
what comes behind,
she is welcome,
knows it,
and takes her time
standing.

Circling swiftly,
her winds whisper promise
as she makes her rounds,
but
those who would cling
for newness’s sake
find her
half-gone before
best plans
can be laid.

Some coo
to coax her
closer while her
whistling laughter’s
fading echo
signals they’ve
already lost

January,
all brand-new.

April
ain’t got nothing
on her.