Rojane Jesper’s most recent poem to appear here was “A Wooded Pathway” (September 2018). 

The Turning Point
By Rojane Jesper

It is winter,
Each night I look through my window at the trees,
Their limbs gnarled and gray
Curl across the cold, dark, moonlit sky.

Ignored and silent,
These trees have held their secrets,
I turn away,
Back into my room.

But tonight, just tonight
It is different,
For without warning,
The trees are revered with the first fall of snow.

Against the moonlit sky, for an instant,
For one glorious and sacred instant
The thin, gray limbs of the trees
Seem to shimmer!

I am drawn to the trees
As if held by their spell,
For they seem to me like a gift.
I do not turn away.

I am old now and thin,
My sleeveless limbs are bent and frail,
Though diminished dreams do come with age,
Snatches of longing remain in my soul.

I am alone,
I walk down the street unnoticed.
Ignored and silent,
I have held my secrets.

But tonight, just tonight
It is different,
For without warning,
I am revered with a gift.

A grandchild,
The first gift of a grandchild!
The room becomes filled
With the strings of violins!

As if held by a spell, I am drawn to him.
My fingers touch his face.
My warn, outstretched arms
Curve around this new and tiny being.

Concealed within his secret world
He lies upon me hushed and still.
Amidst this huddled warmth
I feel the beating of his heart.

As if in deference to this wonder,
The relentless weight of the world
Seems to lift, so that I may grasp
For a moment, how flawless his rhythm.

I walk down the street with a grandchild,
My very own grandchild
And there are smiles,
Everywhere I am greeted with warm, warm smiles.

And for an instant,
For one glorious and sacred instant,
All my gray and faded being
Seems to shimmer!