Guest Post Poetry

Served Over Ice.

I’m not a warm person;
Not in the sense that
I am a person you would sit in front of
after shoveling snow,

Nor would you wrap me around yourself
and hug me to your chest
As you sit in front of a window, weather-watching.

I am not welcoming,
not in the sense of the rug worn with age
Raw with the grinding of heels.

I am not a dog
that leaps onto two legs
and greets you with a grin.

But neither am I the winter chill
that you turn your collar against,
and I’m certainly not the frozen lake
you skate across in the park.

I am not the frigid blast of water
as you first enter the shower,
and I could never, ever, ever be a glacier.

Rather, I am the glass of lemonade
sitting out on the veranda
And the bowl of peach sorbet
sweating in the sun,
staying quite cold until you come
and melt me.

A wondefully gifted Caledonian.
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