Cold and Comfort

I never started a 'hope chest'
when you asked me to.

It seemed too much of an invitation
for bad things to happen,

beginning a collection of linen,
crocheted doilies, and baby gowns

for the home and family
I would one day establish.

I was afraid to jinx my chances.

It's winter here now, Mum.
The wind's so cold.

I'm in a wide open place
where I've never been before,

a field, with sparse trees
off in the distance.

Today, I think I might like
to have a hope chest.

I'd fold into it
the rabbit-fur coat Gran gave me

to take out and throw round my shoulders
like the arms of a friend, or mother,

whenever I feel I might fall.

Cold and Comfort

It's winter here now Mum.
The wind's so cold.

I'm in a wide open place
where I've never been before,

a field, with sparse trees
off in the distance.

I never started a 'hope chest'
when you asked me to.

It seemed too much of an invitation
for bad things to happen,

beginning a collection of linen,
crocheted doilies, and baby gowns

for the home and family
I would one day establish.

I was afraid to jinx my chances.

Today I think I might like
to have a hope chest.

I'd fold into it
the rabbit-fur coat Gran gave me

to take out and throw round my shoulders
like the arms of a friend, or mother,

whenever I feel I might fall.

something to read:

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Intimate Hour

The candle sheds light
like the face of a clock
unraveling hours across
the tablecloth.

The cup of wine you hold
becomes a black well
without a wish,
beside the glow.

Our fortune rests
in the upturned
palm I cradle,
as though our hands
are frame and picture,

as though a bird
flew overhead
and captured our futures
in the instant of fusion.



from the picture Intimate Hour
by AnnaKarin Glass

Almost

The man who slept beside her
continued his puffa pah
train-waiting-in-station sounds,
buttermint breath exhaling
into the amber night.

Somewhere through the dark
it became warm enough
for her to throw off
the velvet coverlet.

The warmth revealed
petal after petal,
till she almost felt
the blessing of sun
as the morning rose,

almost grasped
the complete surrender of dew
to its call.