It was always the coldest

no matter the falling and rising

of that old thermometer.

My hands could hardly move

my throat stuffed full of cotton, shut

and tarred for decoration.

In the summer, I sported icicles

the ones that adhered to my soul,

they gave me a broken heater.

I layered myself like a mummy

ready for burial, and I was, the myrrh

couldn't hide the stench.

Through the gauze, I could see

a brilliant light, I clawed my way

out to peek, to breathe again.

I retreated. A soft mandolin began

to play and I felt hope stir, deep

in my bowels.

It was you saving me from guilt

delivering me from shame. After

all these winters, you are here.

Welcome home! Safe at last.

Janet Caldwell Feb 28, 2010