Fire in winter
By Marge Piercy
Outside winter slams against
the windows, ice crystals
pricking whatever dares go out.
The wind pulls at the cedar
shingles, pushes at the roof,
tears branches loose and sends
them as missiles through grey
air. But inside it’s summer
we’re making, a radiant June
day in our bed. Your chest
almost scalds me with sun
and your arms are balmy.
We make our own season: with
the friction of happy bodies,
the weather is warm indeed.
Copyright © 2015 by Marge Piercy.