Against the wind, my
face burns
and my silk socks
are insufficientfor the chill of my rubber boots.
The gravel road is a gushing river now
and the uphill climb on shiny slabs
of sun-slick ice and pits of slush
is treacherous in a new way.
The blizzard blew down trees
and the power outage was long
but in the dark on a gas stove
lit by matches he boiled
frozen lobster tails from the ocean
and we dined by the fireplace
in candle light. My lips crack
as I smile, remembering...
It's hard to break open lobster
wearing gloves.
© 2013 Diana Renfro
No comments:
Post a Comment