Alize Henry

Young people are amazing. The respectable, honest, and kind ones and the bullying and blatantly disrespectful ones. Either way, I am amazed at our youth, here on this earth. With each new era, it seems the people we will more likely have to depend on are the ones we most likely will fear. From the point of the bullies and the disrespectful ones, the elderly do not stand a chance of surviving. Who do they think the elderly are? I sometimes ponder that question.

“Every action we take today writes the story our children will inherit tomorrow.” Lately, I can’t help but notice that the wicked seem to outnumber the righteous. People act in ways that are not only criminal but also deeply wrong — unconcerned with the consequences. Worse, they’re surrounded by enablers: souls so mired in their own wrongdoing that calling it out in others would mean condemning themselves. There was a time when adults in our communities taught the young the right way to live.

The world turns on a wheel of seasons, each with its own unique light, its own specific sigh. We mark our lives not just by calendars, but by the scent of blooming April soil, the heavy, sensual heat of August, the crisp surrender of autumn, and the silent introspection of December. In this collection, I invite you to walk with me through a full year’s cycle. These poems are love letters to the months that shape us, a chronicle of moments both fleeting and eternal.