|
Winter Journey
Hissing sleet needles the fog,
and cuts a space between the houses,
threads the leaves and rimes the gutters.
And I must venture out today -
to fetch a cat -
black
as unseen snow clouds, cantankerous
as needle points of sleet that sting
my face.
I
slink into the car
On icy unfamiliar roads
the wheels churn the muddied slush.
I search the dusk-blurred map and mutter
street names above the brittle clatter
of icicles upon the roof.
The cloud rags thin, the sleet dissolves
in drumming rain. The blinded house,
deserted,
empty,
hides a lurking,
clawing presence in the cellar -
to be transported through the murk
and rain, to fireside, warm milk
and comfortable laps.
She
howls
despairingly when I reach home
and disappears into the night.
Past midnight, soaked and frozen, crunching
the piled sleet and crisp new snow,
I pounce ...
and
bring the sodden bundle,
wet spikes of fur, a lashing tail
and eighteen flailing icicles
into the house.
(Published in Westerly circe 1994.)
|
