No More Icicles
Sitting on this roof,
seeing the colored lights in neighboring windows
finding frosted panes in abstract happiness,
as winter’s wind howls about my face
Speakers blare in cramping holiday tones,
(What’s so wonderful about it - this time of year?)
Shingles damp and slippery,
still I hold on for dear life
Fingers numb but clinging,
for without my seated sadness
on this peak above chimney ash
watching streams finding the edge
how else would those muddied
tear drop icicles form?
-
Then I hear it on shivering vibrations
A voice from - out there - somewhere
A shadow beneath a flickering street light
Footprints in circles about the square
Moving in my direction
My silhouette on white cloud shimmies
A little to the side, for a better view
Wings - it has - she has wings
I blink a frozen eyelash - she is sitting next to me
A warm, feathery quilted wing about my shoulders
Chilled cheeks burn as I smile
and my heart melts as she whispers to me
“No more icicles”
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
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