During June the wind blows a hefty sigh of
depression through my knits and thermals
chills me to my marrow
Rain pelts down upon my corrugated iron roof
sends me into blissful memory
and I’m bound to my mattress beneath umpteen quilts and
fluffy blankets
They’re so heavy I cannot move
much less dream of breathing
but I am so warm and indefinitely held in the clutches of cotton and

It is only March but I am in a stupor for


It will be wet and cold and heavy and
the month will drag on and on akin to the thread that keeps on running
from my favourite scarf
which I cannot seem to mend

But this year, this June,
I will be flying toward another summer
New York, New York
I’ve heard you’re a helluva town
Where you are gritty and glassy and
your streets walk themselves into oblivion
Where I can stroll through central park from dawn ’til dusk
and quite honestly back again
without batting an eyelid because
you are so full of wonder and tension

And then whoosh, I’ll be off again
Pack, board, ascend, descend, disembark
arms around me for days and unpack
Welcome to Colorado Springs
where I’ll be my own company on the plane and
I’ll have reservations for one
perhaps two, if I’m lucky
and I’ll love and I’ll laugh
I’ll be doing all that I can to stop time because
I’ve been waiting for this week for seven years

Once you told me that you love me,
once you told me that you miss me,
and albeit in some other sense of the phrases 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s