There were days when I
longed for this cold wind,
for shining strands that
now begin their silent creep
downward from the roof.
So many times I hoped for
the freeze–for waves of
something unspoken to become
solid, moldable, holdable.
It all went from wet to wicked
in a day. And now I fear I will not
remember how my heart moved
easily through rain last spring,
how water was sister to my skin.
© Melody Newey 2012
3 comments:
Lovely. And it made me feel less stabby about this winter storm that buried my house.
This is about more than snow.
Yes, Emma J. (I almost added those very words at the bottom of the post. So glad I didn't need to.) Thank you.
You too, Ms Cotton.
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