Winter Poem; The Afternoon Was Feline by Patricia Wallesverd

WINTER POEM

The road East today was empty.

My blue Pontiac

was the only car on the dark road.

Winter fog hung in the air

and every branch and bush

was shrouded with frost.

On my way home

fog had blown away

and frost had vanished.

Sunshine fell from the clouds.

It doesn’t seem like December,

but frigid winds will wind their way in.

The clouds will be heavy with snow.

Squirrels are fat with acorns.

Nuthatches crawl up the tree trunks.

Sparrows nestle into the bird feeder.

Leaves—gone.

Dark, cold branches poke to the sky.

They are ready.

The lake across the road is a frozen mirror.

Snow will fall

and hide all that ice, soon.

So we wait

like an old man who waits

for another morning.

THE AFTERNOON WAS FELINE

We arched our backs, arms and legs

in the sunshine

that crisscrossed the tan carpet,

lapped iced tea and cream,

lazily blinked our eyes

at each other,

toyed with ideas—

batted them around

like balls of yarn,

wrapped our bodies

around each other in the 4:30 sunlight,

slept a catnap

before darkness entered the room.

We prowled the house

just as the moon rose,

careful not to get in each other’s way—

and curled ourselves on top

of your mother’s bed.