February

I know people dislike it: short, but the lengthening days show
snowbanks gritted with exhaust. I couldn’t help it, though.
It wasn’t like rain on a funeral; I didn’t imagine the world empathic.
But I thought I stored my emotions in air and, through my skin, absorbed them.
And the light, returning, nudged me from sleep, and later walked me to dinner,
a hand at my back, giving me shape. I’d say that I found it companionable.

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