Hard Winter
People call this kind of woman strong.
The weather of her life has not been fair;
Her face shows she’s been out in it too long.
A taxi’s on its way in the raw air.
She got a call, she tells me, from the vet,
Saying the cat is not responding well.
Though she speaks calmly, clearly she’s upset,
And clearly there’s too much she wants to tell.
“She sleeps in my bed. I...”––she’s nearing tears––
“Undo my shirt and hold her to my breast.
We’ve lived together now eleven years.”
I wince to hear such loneliness expressed.
And God forbid that I speak honestly:
“Turn, and look away. You frighten me.”
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Threaded Mode
