Our Lady of Cold Nights

How can I pull a poem
out of this thick day?
Mist hangs in the air so thick
it blurs eyes inches away.
We sit slumped and sad.
Silence settles on petals.
The day drizzles, drips.
The night crackles, storms, and cries.
Almost solid, the air tips
and teeters on the edge of
too much and much too little,
with discomfort a fulcrum
by which to lever
the restless, a rope
to splinter the hopeless hands,
a thread tugging at those nerves
most sensitive and subtle.
Remember the dance
with that old man who believed
a woman’s hand should be held
behind her back and between
her shoulders? Dancing
slow at the edge of alarm;
smiling, giggling, and hoping
he lets go. Reality
flails wildly out of balance
as dreams drop and fall.


2 responses to “Our Lady of Cold Nights

  1. I generally love being indoors on cold rainy days – esp if a fire is there too. The image of forced dancing does match the feelings I have when I am forced to walk outside on the rain (oh when will this end?)

    • Yes, snuggled up with a book in front of the fire is one of my favorite images. Last night, I’d spent too much of the day being cold and wet and sad. When I re-read the poem today, I was rather astonished at how sad it is!

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