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It Will Pass

A Poem by Vance Hatton

I loved her in January,
huddled on the bus ride down
through the night and into town.


I saw her in February
passing on the path below,
trapped behind my locked window.

 

I heard her in March,
her voice singing in the air,
but couldn’t see her anywhere.

 

I fought her in April
in hushed tones over the phone,
beneath the bathroom fan’s low drone.

 

I lost her in May
when I, for a while, had to go away;
would she finally from my heart stray?


I thought her in June
to have gone and forgotten me,
until she called, one night at three.


I found her in July,
beneath the azure summer sky
in the shade and said goodbye.


I felt her in August,
a heavy weight in my heart,
even a hundred miles apart.


I feared her in September,
scared for the moment when
I’d bump into her again,


I neared her in October
walking on the path ahead
showered in brown and gold and red.


I faced her in November
stood my ground and made small talk,
stuffing my anxieties with a cork.


I missed her in December
in the nights that last too long;
time passed but my love stayed strong.

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