The Bitter Chilly

Monday, in the late afternoon lonely, 
the apartment shivered with cold 
and from my window 

the world rose in icy numbness

like a scene from the movie Dr. Zhivago –  

after the revolution.

So, naturally,  

all the little horse drawn carriages, 

with cozy fur lap rugs, 

were nowhere to be found 

amongst the blue concrete –

though wispy snowflakes tumbled  

childishly, in happy-sad, 

reminiscent white breaths

that stirred me to set about looking  

for my hot water bottle 

to press against my flannelette tummy, 

as my mother had taught me to do, 

when I was just a little girl:

  

To warm the bitter chilly,  

she would say – 

as she tucked soft blankets round 

and hugged me.

photo:  Bitter Chilly - W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke