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.