Tonight's Poet Corner: Through The Woods

Through The Woods
by Belinda Roddie

In our little cabin,
we prepare a small dinner
over candles and warm hearths,
and the fireplace catches
our breath in its embers
and ashes. In our little cabin,

we sit cross-legged with hot
tea and chilled feet, toes
quivering but fingers heated
against the knots and weaves
and tangles of our fading
summer souls. Because

it is finally autumn for
the giant who was forced
to swallow fire and collect
grains of smoke in his beard.
It is finally cold enough
for us to inhale without coughing,

and if we're lucky, rain will paint
its lips against dry, gray suburbia.
Right now, however, in our little cabin,
we are safe and sound among
strangers, tucked away in
wilderness by Gaia's thumb,
radiating with cosmic dawn.