I Ate the Bitter Weed of Winter

by carolyn pidgeon

I ate the bitter weed of winter That steeled my heart And made me seek cold corners, Where I could scream my disdain Down the hollow hopeless streets, Where the last litter of leaves scuttled, Like brown paper mice Along continual curbs. Neither the concrete nor the wind Could absorb my voice, my anger. Rather my loud voice reverberated, Against the walls and columns Like the rabble rousing of a racquetball. Till mitts over ears I cried.

I had my salacious summers. Tempting cascades of fruit and foliage, From well –tended marble gardens, Their gargoyle fountains drinking from artesian wells Deep in the stone dark earth, As well as the wild lush Of lavender fields embracing hilltops. I have been drunk with them, But now they are dim images, Grapes washed in cold rain, Offering no warmth, As memories should To the sleet crusted streets, To the bruising breath of winter.