Visit February's blog, Pitch Slapped, and you'll find more creativity, written and visual, as well as a wonderful community of writers who comment on 'Bru's blog about writing, and more.
(Please note: I will be posting Pain, Part 3: Creativity and Pain here at http://www.appalachianmorning.blogspot.com/ this coming Saturday, February 12.)
Grace's Lament (...or Frigid Temps, High Whinge Advisory)
Thirty-nine winters of snowy 'bliss'
you’d think that I'd get used to this
or that I'd finally move, but no
dark Janus rules, and I am owned
contrary, I feel statuary
frozen, stone-thrown, pottery
my joints all stiff and doddery
First sweater, coat, next scarf then hat
the gloves and boots come after that
hands too cold to grip my keys
I’m deafened by my chattering teeth
My feet too wet, my hair too dry
static shocks send locks awry
can't change the fact my skin is cracked
despite the gloss my lips stay chapped
I could scratch spin on the street
though I’ve lost sensation in both feet
as I chip at ice that's seized the car
I envy the high temp on Mars
I wish all this would finally end
for my mitten-shaped, fair-weather friend
they say our trees will bloom come spring
at this point plants seem fictitious things
I start to think that Sol's a myth
or simply has ceased to exist
death by terminal case of 'blahs'
...'til I see he's citizen of Oz
Dear friends who email such sweet notes:
pictures tanning, beaches, boats
"the weather's fine, wish you were here!"
...no Christmas card for you next year!
I'm kidding--please do send those shots
--'vicarious' is all I got
at least I know there's someone who
is warmer now, than is Ms. 'Bru
There's only one advantage clear
I see to ever living here
so I tell myself as I bundle, snug
"...no poisonous snakes and no big bugs!"
© 2011 by February Grace. All rights reserved.