it’s getting colder
and I’ve grown stiffer
playing Cats Cradle is too poignant
though I like the sound
of young laughter
near a fire, rocking
windy music flows
through window cracks
recalling another December
when I was still golden, not yet ripe
we sang to records
over and over
he taught me harmony
by being close
and how to dance
by placing my small feet on his
tree branches reach for my house
when wind pushes them at night
startling me to the present
while their shadows take me
to seek warm memories of cold seasons
The Word Rummager 
Leave a comment