A Small Comfort

Fri, 10/31/2014 - 20:24 -- mritoch

The streets turn to ice,

and flakes fall fast. 

I point my head into the wind.

 My eyes sting so much

I begin to cry.

Books shuffle in my bag, 

promising an evening of studying and headache.

I hold small comfort in my hands.

The smell of pumpkin and chai

dance in my nostrils and 

slow the burning in my eyes.

I am reminded of playing in piles of leaves 

and easy Christmas mornings. 

I take a sip,

hot tea singes my tongue,

but I don’t care. 

Around me the world is a snow cone, 

so I take another sip. 

My mouth burns 

but I don’t care.

My world is softer, easier. 

Blue lips begin to thaw, 

I feel like a rolling ball of steam.

My body is a fire in the middle of a storm. 

I smile.


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