A Shelter

The rain is flung against the windows

in periodic splatters —

the glass holds the cold at bay,

as does the heat,

indulgently set high

to try to hold back, too,

the hard-flung shafts

of doubt, of indecision,

and the slow seep

of suspected missed connections

that I imagine

would warm me to my core

There is a shelter

that has harbored me before

and I will find it

after my introspection

and my letting go

when I reach out

with my empty hands

and let what holds me

bear me up

from underneath.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 16, 2014