A Hard Winter - Dec 4 2022

 

A Hard Winter

Dec 4 2022

In a hard winter

I can feel my body heat

bleeding out,

the cold

work its way through

the thin exterior walls.

The old insulation

clotted by condensation

that's lost its loft.

The sheetrock

and airy wooden frame.

The brittle bricks

and crumbling masonry.

I picture the cold

streaming in

like some thick congealing liquid;

how water finds a way

through infinitesimal cracks

and tiny spaces,

seeking its level

and flowing inexorably down.

A nasty wind

whips through the windows.

They are single pane,

and so poorly fitted

snow filters in,

a thin layer

powdering the lower ledge.

The feeble flame

of the ancient burner

gives off such meagre heat

I can barely feel it,

even with my hands cupped close;

a small stone

dropped in an ocean of cold.

Dropped cleanly,

so even ripples

don't radiate out.

I have wrapped myself

in sweaters and furs

and heavy blankets.

My breath condenses,

numb fingers

are a waxy white.

I take it day by day,

the hours counting off

and minutes dragging

as if time had somehow thickened.

So even the interval

between seconds

is a test of will,

and only seems to lengthen

as the day wears on.

Cold

depletes the body

and narrows the mind.

So all I can do

is focus on survival

and tug the covers tight,

shuffle closer

to the weakly guttering flame.

I'm cozy, here in the peaceable kingdom of Canada. So this isn't about me. Rather, it was inspired by the prospect of a Ukrainian winter without heat. Russia's state terrorism. Putin's despicable and pointless war. And another of his crimes against humanity.