Birgit Bunzel Linder
Winter Coat - Poem by Birgit Bunzel Linder
I lingered and loafed for three seasons long.
Alone with my memories of your precious warmth.
Do you recall?
How I enveloped you against her wind, North and East?
How I captured her snow for you, flake after flake?
Yet you shook them off with careless contempt,
I don't know why.
But I felt unsettled.
And when, at times, you unbuttoned
to let her west wind in,
I felt simply undone.
Now it's November, a Wednesday afternoon.
I know you are cold.
Brother Heater told me the other day,
elated about 34 Far and Height outside.
I long to wrap myself around you again,
cloak you with every fiber of my wool.
I have waited 267 dispossessing days,
collecting dust for you, speck by speck.
But you, when you opened the closet door,
you beat me till I fell to the ground.
"There, " you say, "that's better."
"Usable, " you say.
Abusable, I feel.
And then, without rhyme or reason,
your merciless hands hung me back to myself.
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