A Myriad of Winters
- Edith Sherburne
- May 4, 2018
- 1 min read
The one with the tiny tree with red lights on it
And icicles forming on its gutters…]
Inside we are bundled in our beds.
The snow outside falling ever so softly.
Snowflakes the size of peppermints
But much less round
The door to my bedroom is cracked open just the slightest bit
The hallway light creeping in
Illuminating only a sliver of the room
I stare at the door
Waiting for it to open
Waiting for the sandman to come and take my dreams
It’s 11 o’clock
And the shadows creep under my door
Reaching for my ankles
[I pull my blankets tighter]
Then I hear
The medicine cabinet hung on the wall above the sink
opening
Running water over a toothbrush
The way it scratches against grown-up teeth
The click of the cabinet closed
Two sets of footsteps
And the door creaks
“Edie?”
and I know I should be asleep, but I answer anyway.
“May we join you?”
And you both lay down beside me.
A lone lovebird
and a grounded Snowbird
In Upstate, NY
on a snowy Friday night
Motionless, we watch the snow fall under the motion light.
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