hibernaculum

by Elly McCarthy

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the violent brightness of snow 
wakes the cat up earlier than morning 
and the slow grating of shovel on powder 
on ice on gravel pushes me to a new day, 
one that manages to confront 
the asymmetry of our fetal love 

it needs breakfast, it needs a warm 
cup of coffee and soft-boiled eggs
and reassurance that there’s nowhere 
to go today, the roads are obstructed 
choking on dove grey slush, spitting out pedestrians 
the telephone wires sagging 
to touch the split ends of someone 
much taller than us 

the cat curves into shelter, stretches 
into a freeway promising a destination 
I consider ironing my crinkled trousers,
icing my dissonant head, but I too 
am curving and I don’t want to know 
your name, want to forget 
mine too. to never be called and feel 
relief rather than burrowing trepidation  

if I had a fast metabolism or anything 
faster than passive patience, I would swallow 
this love for the sake of us both 
nourish my weeping body with memories  
of the possibilities and not resent the icicles 
when they fall freely

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