A VERY COLD WIND

A VERY COLD WIND

Suddenly a cold breeze comes up
and the coat I had tossed across the table beside me
is back on and feels just right. 
And the scarf I had packed away in my knapsack
is wound back around my neck
and I’m grateful for it as the breeze keeps coming.

Which makes me think of all the people in the news today.
And all the many more who aren’t in the news,
who are old news, or the wrong color, 
or struggling in the wrong places.

But it really doesn’t matter does it?
There they all still are, whether the news is or not, 
and they’re all still struggling in similar ways,
with much more than cold breezes to face
and no warm jackets and scarves nearby 
to reach for and slip back on, 
to be comforted by.

They’re driven from homes 
and the lives they lived 
just the day before.

All the ways they kept their children safe, taken:
coats they reached for when they were cold,
scarves they wrapped around their necks, 
hats that kept them warm.
All gone.

Nothing to reach for. 
Nothing tossed across a table,
packed in knapsacks. 
Nothing now. 

Home? Far away.
A memory in the midst of chaos.
Taken.

Now?
A very cold wind.


Bill Jeffers
3/2/2022