Slow Thaw

This hot searing pain in my chest.  The contrast of frozen heart against human heat.  The unchanging past trying to exist in the fluidity of now.

Statues will fall in the current of a river if given enough time.

Isn’t it violent to put a flame under ice?  Why not let fire be fire without the squelching of rain that falls from melting bricks of Winter’s treasure?

And let Winter reign in my bosom, free to flurry and blizzard til all is snow-brushed and still?

Would not the cold soothe the wounds, cocooned in a blanket of frost and quiet?  Would my cryogenic core ever thaw?

Couldn’t Spring come gently to revive me? 

The softness of sunlight filtered through morning clouds: lavender pillows and lilac sheaths for my eyes.  

Tiny golden flowers to remind me of the zealous star above and encourage my twilight sight to receive the day.

Fragrance of vanilla and citrus to tickle my nose; my tongue gently flickers in my moistening mouth yearning for a taste of sweet fruit again.

The hum of life rises from the soil, encouraging my blood to flow once more.  

The patter of prairie dog feet and foxes dancing reminds my heart to beat.  

The whispering breeze tells my lungs to breathe a new time as the grief gradually recedes into fresh air tingling my timid skin alive.

A kindness it would be for the Flame Keeper to release the rising Phoenix gently from his hands, 

that the Ice Queen may have her long night and dominion over our memory of days, 

til she's well spent to surrender sweetly when sleep beckons her away.

So let my brumal pith have its hibernation in the peace of my Wintertide, and she will blossom slowly, 

carefully cured nectar for the birds, marrow for hollow bones, delicate streams to flow in my veins.

And the warm, slow kiss of love will stir my placid heart awake.

Copyright © 2021, Sheyorah Naify

Art: Ice Melt by Jill Preston.

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