This Is South

An Ode to Winter

What if this is South, and the geese are among us? I'm not sure how to hold the cold and wet that is in my bones. It threatens me, and tears into my shirt. Both of them, I'm wearing two layers. Will you come to me and hold me where the warmth is? Make sure I don't move, so that it forgets I'm here and carries on burning.

Coffee is not enough, I need to be jolted with the weight of endless responsibility. What would it be like to feel light, and relieved of that which burdens? Does anyone but the Monk Who Sold His Ferrari know such bliss? Maybe my father does. He is better at meditating than I am.

In a blink they have left me, all of them, and only ancestors remain. Can they bring me their old coats? I'm sure they have no use for them now.

-TC