February Morning

it's still February,
the darkest of months

dreary mornings,
autopilot days
stuck in rewind

clouds race above
to some other place,
better than this;
intent on not taking us

walls inside
the color of
skies outside,
bleak and gray

I suffocate in rooms
with air thick
like heavy blankets
wrapped and twisted,
I am too warm,
hopeless and stagnant

suddenly this morning
a bird sang-

reminding me
it's almost March

the sky, and me,
are happier for it


Heather Reed 2005