Yule Known
Kate Gough
We were yule log
and hot tea people,
the kind with hearty laughs
and drunken minds.
We would gather round the hearth to rest.
But this harvest round, as the night tucks in
the yellow moon is duller.
From the blizzard hell
we hide in our hovels alone.
We are dry biscuit
and cold coffee people,
the kind with lonely hearts,
and bitter rinds.
We haven’t laughed out loud in months.
But deep inside,
we knit our way around the heartbeat.
Wool to numb,
we taste of cinnamon and ginger,
a hot kick the mulled wine needed,
and we melt
gently.
From this godawful winter,
through fair isle sweaters and tears on the cheeks tender,
the fireplace is known.