Tonight's Poet Corner: A Weary Lass

A Weary Lass
by Belinda Roddie

I returned from a brief holiday in Scotland
and found you sleeping on the couch
with our cats curled against your knees
and the Christmas tree as dry as the desert.

After I swept the needles away, like fine,
fragile kindling that needed only one spark,
I rested my head on your exposed shoulder,
only to hear you dreaming about someone else.

There was a carol I remembered singing
in Edinburgh, standing right where the fog
kissed the forehead of the castle. The rain

made my lips wet, but the notes held weight.
They nested in the wreaths on every pub door.

Somehow, I found myself humming it,
right as your subconscious got to the good part.

You found ecstasy in a world without me,
and outside, just like in the Highlands,
it only got colder.