Sleet fell into my mouth last night.
I slept on a bed of snow and awoke
to find buried daffodils, white blurring
the morning traffic until I blinked sleep
from my eyes and the sun rose high.
I tore my jumper off but ended up
shivering, hot-cold, uncertainty
was a knife’s edge blistering
my insides. In my cupped hands
I held a tiny mouse born too soon:
a wish for the future. I sang to the storm
hymning itself, the arguments, the pain passing
from thisworld to the next like thunder and lightning.
I sang to my god of painless passing to have mercy
on this trembling thing. I prayed for wisdom.
I prayed for peace. I prayed for strength
to carry something small,
tiny heart beating like a broken hammer
into a more certain world where it could leap free,
live and scamper from the husk of its skin
with happy memories. I prayed as rain jarred my window
and sun’s beam broke through again.