Today I am cold weather damp
and wind-chimes after that picturesque
and uninteresting summer
What can I say
Outside cars read the street like Braille
running wet fingertips
over the night she was buried
and I climbed into my mother's lap
and she held me
and I cried
and then she dipped my fingers
and toes in warm honey
and brought me upstairs
and tucked me in to bed again
Gone now like summer
and I am wearing thick woolen sweaters
and socks to warm
and I'm in bed
—warm cat cool sheets—
and I miss the days when everything
seemed like it would be all right
for a while
and we were so happy
and wet
and windblown
into that narrow restaurant
in a gust of leaves
and umbrellas insufficient for
an oncoming hurricane
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Photo: Roman Boed
