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{small comfort} coleen shin Yesterday, such unyielding cold. Today, again. Winter, Ole Boy, would you have me, always at your mercy, a casualty of low numbers the fairy frost on your window, a frozen limb praying for the shudder of Spring mine, long gone, a distant thing? Morning, the chill light, this warm house the tempest in me a mere ache now. I grow old I grow fallow, I want in senseless echo some relief from pain the night allowed while I buried with me one small feral friend in the feather down, Dearest Stella. Tiny Heartbeat, and sweet kibble breath as flawless a soul as ever born, and ever borne the secrets of my sorrow in sheer ears so delicate the firelight shines through them becomes in the night a beacon of sympathy provoking at least one sincerely weary smile. Companion on my travels, the long hours from fall of dusty night to creaking dawn. I should have named you Mercy, little one. Called you Nursie or Dr Love so healing, the fawn freckled warmth of you curled behind my bent knee. So this is love, it's crystalline form. And love, it is said, heals all, and it does almost. It almost does. It drinks tears walks the curve of my spine to curl beside my ear, peers through the tangles of me with shining eyes. |
