(For what it's worth, I'm actually having quite a decent week. Just so as no one is worried about me after reading this.)
A February Lament
I slide from door to sidewalk to car
to work, feet slipping on ice that will not
melt no matter how many times
I follow the path. I slid from your bed
to the door, down the stairs, and home.
I slip on patterns I've followed for years.
I walk in my sleep toward the guillotine.
Cold surrounds my bed
even with the heavy blanket
of lavender plaid. You said
it was too hot with our bodies
under the blanket, too cold
without it. We failed
to find temperance.
I had coffee with my exgirlfriend
and saw for the first time
grey strands in her hair.
She is four years younger
than I, and I know my darkness
is borrowed, running out.
The ice cracks under foot today,
the weekend will bring a thaw
before freezing smooth again
and even more dangerous. The blade
of winter hovers, one thin rope
of sunshine keeps my head attached.
My knees are frozen to the ground,
my hands are tied firmly
by thirty years of loneliness.
I can not get out of my own way.