Lost Week - Dec 10 2024

 

Lost Week

Dec 10 2024

When the gut grief hit

and a lost week

in a fugue of delirium

was spent between the funky sheets

and iron-stained toilet bowl

it turned to winter.

A biting north wind,

and the first snow

swirling in the cold illumination

of the motion-triggered lights.

And me, oblivious,

as the LEDs flicked on-and-off

all night long,

bathing the big desolate yard

in the unsparing glare

of their bloodless light.

So when I arose from the dead

I looked out on a world transformed.

And felt like someone from the tropics

who’d never left home,

stepping off the plane

into an alien north  —

thin-blooded

and feeling every lick of cold.

A real winter,

the kind we don’t have anymore.

So as I rebuilt my strength

and regained my tolerance

all I felt was gratitude;

leaving the first tracks

in freshly fallen snow,

watching the dogs

manically frolic

in the dry white powder

as they porpoised through the drifts

and tore through the woods.

My mind sharp

body whole

spirit restored.

Resurrected

by the bracing cold,

the low winter sun

in a clear blue sky

after the storm.

They say “write what you know”. Which feels good. Because normally, in my uneventful life, I have to resort to making things up! I think you can tell. This one somehow sounds more authentic to me: more experiential; less intellectual/philosophical.

(The poem says “a …week”, and this isn't poetic licence; it literally was that long. Maybe even 8 days. But within the window expected of salmonella. So at least my immune system isn’t totally out to lunch!)