To
Keep Out The Cold
By Oscar S. Cisneros
Footsteps sound alone on the sidewalk at night, windswept,
cold, with only a thin long coat, black, to keep out the
chill. Intersections, cross-walks, traffic signals, too
bright a light glaring from artificial bulbs white out
the glitter of stars. Fog slips through cement and mortar
ravines, urban crevasses crawled only by solo souls. Suddenly,
the street is empty. The wind stops. And here I am alone.
Where is the soft amber light of the bedside table, the
clean sheets, the warm place for cold toes, the softness
of the fabric of your skin of your kisses uncalled for
freely given, casually given, distracted, reading something,
yet still loving low level instinctual the touch reaching
beneath the sheet just to feel that the other is there
that you are there with the other? Where is all of that?
Where are you? Your scent is fading from the shirt you
left behind. The wind begins to blow again and me with
it, ruminating, roaming, glad for the dark, glad for the
cold to match this emptiness. Footsteps sound alone on
the sidewalk at night, windswept, cold with only a thin
long coat and love to keep out the cold.
