Tuesday 23 January 2007

January is Freezing

Posted for no other reason than that it's freezing out today My feet are so cold - I feel about 90 years of age moaning about my aches and pains. So I was reminded of this poem, about a different kind of cold and a different kind of freezing.

January is Freezing

Cold light seeped in, through misted frames
Casting a golden glow over smoke rising
from the cigarette in my hand and hanging over the grill;
tobacco and bacon and fried eggs.
The smell of a Sunday afternoon.
I lean elbows on a crumb-laden table
and watch a sullen shadow cross the mahogany,
cast by a bottle, like an alcoholic sun dial;
and it is strange to have you sitting here again,
your shoulder touching mine, your cup warm against my hand.
The scattered cartons of a late-night ill-advised meal
one lone rice grain welded to a fork,
careless reminders of a moment of mad abandon.
Shivering gratefully and huddled against the draught
I try to normal out, without the pain.
In the enervation of a Sunday hangover, still
sourly tasting the delights of the night before
I cannot ask you where have you been,
I can only watch the pearls of rain,
mingling with the icy glass and sigh

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne January 2003



Anonymous said...
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Anonymous said...

I like it, very different from some of your other poems, but very interesting...it sounds at first as if you are actually close to your companion but then one realises there is a sad, cold space between you.