I am December
the colder, darker days, woolly
jumper with sleeves to my fingertips,
breath frosting the air. Central heating
smell, oranges, cinnamon, evening filled
with burning embers, I am December.
I am days off
laptops off, lights off, cake out, candles on,
please, no song, everyone in the kitchen
to celebrate me. Cards, texts, bath sets,
colourful crumpled paper, an intermingling
with a merry agenda, I am December.
I am a catch
in the belly, a soaring in the throat,
a bubbling behind the eyes, a pleasant,
gentle jolt, a rubber ball bouncing and rolling
at the sight of lights strewn overhead, a feeling
that spreads in my centre, I am December.
Letters
All year I have had the sense of
doom, the feeling of forthcoming
panic rising in my belly
rising through the months
as they go by without
a let-up of the shadows
this year has sent but I still
didn’t fully see it coming
the letters now stacking up
I wouldn’t have imagined them
sitting on the armchair
their white bellies huffing
in the breeze of the fan
circulating summer air
waiting for me to order them
into coherence but most days I am
too afraid to touch them
else they may multiply
the way the cells in my bowel
and my womb
continue to multiply
as they have been, silently
for months with not yet
any intervention.
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