Winter Sap

You wake and seek the life elixir

but the sap of trees is sleeping

and yours — perhaps it’s crusted over

in the stress of things you tell yourself

and the press of boxes you’ve taken in —

cold steel against the softness of your inner parts,

dull ache from where you try

to bend around them

But still there’s something —

the touch of air, or movement

against the blankets,

a feather breath of light, or of another,

and the warm liquid stirs, finds strength,

begins to run the lengths

up and down along the inside of your hopes —

you stretch yourself, you move,

you feel alive.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 13, 2020