January

I am January,
with one face looking ahead
and another watching the past.
I have no time
for the present
and I lose moments
of now that are too precious
to let go.
I stare behind me
with trembling fingers,
frozen in January’s ice.
And my feet glue
to the snow-sticky ground
afraid of what might lie ahead.
I can’t move forward
because I can’t stop staring behind.
I am the watcher of doorways,
the Oracle of indecision.
I am January.

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