Last Month Passed

Last month passed without
landmarks. No burned spot
revealing that a fire was made.
Not footprints or crumbs or
torn tickets. I must have waded
through the days without
making ripples or noise. Heron.
Leopard. But not that
beautiful. Not artful or sleek. 

I don’t expect last month to glitter
or win an award, but could it 
at least breathe or wiggle,
scribble a quick postcard? 
Could it somehow remind me 
that I walked through those thirty-one
doorways and hammered away, however
small, at my own history.

Funny, but I’m reminded of how old
black and white movies showed 
the passing of time with a close-up
calendar, page after page quickly 
blown away in a frantic wind.

Time: nobody stops it, but I’m trying
to drag my feet, create some friction and
at least leave tracks. Trying not to become 
the old woman they all call bitter.

Dianne Nelson Oberhansly is a multi-genre writer, though her first love is poetry. She lives in Ashland, Oregon where she is a slow food enthusiast, a walker, and an Arts supporter/educator.