Cold etchings
The house faced east across the valley,
Stoic against the Pennine winters of childhood
When bitter winds would blast across the space
to bite at fingers blue and
Clog the arteries between towns
with snow that
Drifted and swirled and blotted out the view.
A plug-in Dimplex made bearable
the move from day to night,
Wan warmth radiated out to battle goosebumps
Until safety was reached
under flannelette and honeycomb and eiderdown,
With a piping bottle for frozen feet.
By morning, the large bow window would be frosted fast.
Frayed old towels folded on the sill below
Set to mop up when it thawed at last.
But before then
I’d dare to etch my initials on the glass.
This year, the cold snapped late.
But it was sharp enough when it arrived
To save some bees from neonics intended to beat a beet pest.
Locked down locked in I only saw
the rime through slatted blinds.
No early morning walks to the bus stop
Diverting slightly to surreptitiously
etch messages on frosted cars
Under cover of decaying dark
As a fox barks in the nearby park.
8 March 2021
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