Curl
Dusk was ushering the sunlight out from under my feet
as my face met the west sunset.
My fingernails clicked against the thin iron nails
that pierced the fragrant, rough cherry wood
of my favorite wicker chair.
Two petite, worn feet peeked out from under
a pale, washed-out quilt
that rested on top of my slender legs.
Gathering my legs close to my chest,
I winced
as sharp goose bumps arose from my skimpy frame.
Fall sent its familiar threats of night chill to my parched skin
as I locked my body into a small ball,
starving for warmth.
Yet, I could not bring myself to reach out
and pull the window’s numbing pane back
to seal out the bite
of tormented October winds.
Silence wafted in and out of my room
like a rolling tide on a sunlight-stained shore.
The sound of the air crusading
down the loose creases of my linen curtains
beckoned me
to release the tense muscles
in my grasping arms.
Distant wind chimes tinkled violently
as the last remaining bits of sunlight scattered
off into the horizon.
My faded brown eyes embraced the darkness,
while my lips stung from
the nippy kisses of the breeze.
I rubbed my legs,
as I pressed my back into the rickety weaves of wood
that ran against my backside
in a solid pattern of diamond spaces.
My chapped lips tasted sweet
as I traced the edge of my mouth with my tongue.
I took one last glimpse of the sun
before it drowned below the cracks
between faraway mountains.
I drew the window back to its place
I slowly rose from the familiar support of the chair,
and I realized…
This is the
thin line
between my comfort zone and the world.
This is where I go
when I’m in want.
This is where I curl.