Sunday, July 10, 2016

Cold Comfort

Cold Comfort 

the little girl tiptoed to 
see her - the sunporch
chilly in the first shock
shivering just a bit - she
approached - and there
as she knew she would
be - she sat - that bright
quilt draped on shoulders
Regal - I swore she spoke
to me as always-whispers
in the rustle of the willow
I felt her touch - her hand
veined and blue and firm
floating on mine - She,
my touchstone-talisman
Love - for it was always
love ... Love, said she is
the lift - the spice - the
laugh of life - in some
spectral knowing my
eyes suddenly stung
by her coming goneness
She held my tears ..
her voice in my soul
Do not weep little bird -
never waste a wit on
worry - you will grow -
you will fly and soar -
to love, to live, to laugh.
Yes, even without me...
for I am always there..

I sigh and run fingers
across my faded soft 
quilt - chilled on this
night - touched with
fear - I run my fingers
on my faded quilt and
suddenly in brilliant
conflagration burning
softly, strongly bright
in the distant twinkle
of these cold dark nights -

and somehow
I hear the soft
sound of small
to and fro

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