Ceremony

Ceremony

Winter slithers its ice-blooded
reptile belly over my feet,
slices at my toes—I do a little
dance, my Ritual: tight fists balled
around my thumbs, thrust
deep in my pockets, shuffle
left, shuffle right, shuffle left,
throwing my face at the
drizzling spittle
of a malevolent sky.

The sky has a grey soul
today. No mercy.
I understand the winter
sky for I, too, have been separated
from my sun; I know her pain,
her fury, burning frigid. I too
have spit on the world.

It is a bone brittle
winter day on a bus
stop in SoWeBo,
and I wish I could feel
my toes again. I wish
there was snow on the ground
to calm me. I wish
I were blanketed
in someone's embrace.
But I do not wish that
the sky would cease.
The sky has her rites
& I have mine.