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Winter: A Poetic Interlude

I wait for the snow.

I wait and yet it is almost gone, this season. It is passing and passing and I try to hold on but my hands ache.

You pass, you pass the kitchen and he’s reading cookbooks. Bent over reading a cookbook and you stop because you are filled, suddenly, with love. So you stop and place your hand over his hand and it’s unexpected love in an afternoon.

I wait for the snow and want to be buried alive in this life.

The quiet stillness.

Your aching hands cut out paper snowflakes and they make a tap tapping sound against the panes like a gentle rain. Tap tapping and the wind chimes enchant the snow, beg the snow to fall. You are enchanted.

I wait for the spring. Dreading to stamp out the hearth and go forth into the vales of the living. To become busy and forget this time we had where we could see clearly.

You wake and it’s dark and he reaches out to hold your hand in sleep. And you can’t bear for it to be lost. For your small, aching hand to come out empty. And work and serve for nothing when the warm comes and you are swallowed in crowds.

The worst of the best is a cold hand under your shirt against your hot skin. It’s better than the best of the worst and you shrink from the possibility of the worst returning when you sleep. When you close your eyes and he falls away from you in a vacuum and the winter is no longer wrapping you up tight and safe.

You were punished for loving. When your hands still worked and your beauty had not yet faded. Working and wasted on such hate and violence and you became whatever it is you are today. Wanting love.

(Even in winter the bathroom must be cleaned and the floors must be swept and there are still some days left to be wrapped up tight and safe.)

It’s not yet spring and you smell his neck and he smells like clean snow. He’s always clean and bright and beautiful and you’re always staring out the window by your desk at this old mattress leant against a fence left to rot.

But you turn your face back into his neck where there is snow, the smell of snow in all seasons.

I will wait.


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