ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
WIND REMEMBER
the wind blowing the winter I was 11 is still blowing
it is not blowing here this is not the wind I remember
its cousin its niece or nephew maybe perhaps
an unacknowledged child that now bangs on my window
expecting recognition or just a little time to come in
but my door is shut against it I turn from the windows
I remember my wind I will have no other
it was so cold it damaged snow
it tore off a red piece of sunset and threw it away
it crawled under my hat and up my sleeves
everywhere it went it hummed to itself
while I listened to that freezing music
there in the attic the rafters and shingles
began to dance with each other
the furnace cleared its throat to be asked to join
but fire was the furthest thing from that wind
and all who danced with it
it has found in some arctic sea
one who truly loves it
it lives in happiness there where the night does not end
wind remember me!
I was smaller than you and warmly dressed
though not warmly enough
I loved being made cold because my heart beat faster
and I could take my cold feet
to the grate in the kitchen and stand there
till they told me not to hog the heat
and gave me potato soup and sandwiches