Poem of the Month

Click poem title for YouTube link

The winter had brought me darkness,

made me cold to the bones,

kept me hidden inside.

A need for warmth set my desire for kindling.

A wigwam of newspaper and dried twigs

waited in the grate.

And there was the axe,

weapon-ready from the night before

when I feared an intruder in the cellar.

I swung and missed first time.

The log wobbled,

rocked before settling

like the last vibrations of a saucepan lid

dropped on the kitchen floor.

So, I held it still;

thick log suddenly dainty

between my thumb and forefinger.

Next swing hit.

Metal threatening my veins

with black paint and mud.

I needed to bleed.

The air, fresh with evergreens

and lingering frost

held my mind sharp.

I couldn’t look.

I just raised my hand

as if to ask a question

and began pacing.

Wash it under the tap, she said.

Too fragile. Hardly joined,

I refused.

I saved my fainting for the doctor,

for the moment he wielded metal trimmers

to scissor my finger straight.