This morning the curtains glow
the color of embers.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s still winter,
still New England
and on the other side of the window
the mute trees hold the cold inside them.
If I step outside for five seconds
it will settle into me too
but this morning, propped up in bed,
engulfed by aquamarine pillows
and honeyed shadows
I could be in Florida or Morocco.
Even if I’m not, the sun is getting stronger
by the minute. Soon enough
there will be places in the body
the cold won’t reach.
About the Creator
Lori Lamothe
Poet, Writer, Mom. Owner of two rescue huskies. Former baker who writes on books, true crime, culture and fiction.
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I First Saw Him
When I first saw him sitting on the wall, relaxed and looking out over the water, I was sure he wasn't a local. Not including children, there are only about 250 or 300 of us in this area full-time, though that number is ten-fold in the summer, and I know everyone at least by sight or by family resemblance. And yet, the way he sat looked familiar and started my mind sorting and discarding among the families I knew, not quite like this one, not quite like that one.
By Natalie Wilkinson7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Nice, short and to the point. This was a pleasant read