As Long As There Are Husbands in Winter
by Phyllis HollidayFrom An Old Sore Throat Lozenge Commercial
As long as there are husbands in Winter, Wolves crying, icicles speaking in riddles, A wish for roses. Autumn wives, Summer children, Waking to eery footsteps on snow, hushed, soothed By Hollyhock People Stories, Talking Bees Tales, how Good Children find that deer-path in the woods. Snowmen husbands come into the cabin, then When it is time, melt and are saved in A tin bucket, behind the wood stove. Winter Saving, like berry jam, rhubarb preserves, apples Spuds, mincemeat, stored for Winter life. Comes white ice fear, cough and death. The wind. But Winter Wife puts lemon oil on her breasts, And hums. The bucket's low. In her wool cloak And thick mittens, out she goes. Snow tells stories Of lilacs. Lilacs will come, and birds. Behind the Wood stove, the Lover in the bucket softly Laughs, carrot nose sneezing underwater.
Phyllis Holliday says: "When I was a child I lived for two years in an enchanted forest in Central Oregon. I was beguiled by poetry and folklore and began a long quest to learn how to write about it. I'm still learning. Favorite fruit: after much pondering (I'm a Gemini/Libra rising) like Eve, apples."
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