No Matter What

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

At some point or another

One of these poems will be my last.

Whichever season it lands in

Holds a key, or, better said—

A gesture as to how it will unfold

Into your life.  No matter what

 

Wind will be blowing outside,

Roots will expand and contract,

Night will come, and the moon will be phasing

Behind the clouds, and blue screen lights

Will dim under your hands,

 

And floor boards will creak beneath

Your feet as you step into another room—

Thinking: What was being said between the lines?

Where does it all lead anyway?

Will we meet there? What will she look like?

Will there be a river and cherry blossoms?

Will there be angels, and, if so,

Will they be silent or singing?