in that place
a howling draft
frosted the air
when i laughed
and crawled under the door
to bite my toes
and snuck up my spine-
a place where everyone froze

so i’m driving away

my tires cut the snow
from the streets
and it’s all dirty white
where the lonely cold meets

so i’m driving to you

where my loud laughter
is eaten by your mouth
and my toes aren’t chased after
but kept warm under yours
and we play piano down our spines

and out there on the streets
the evergreen pines
don’t die in a gutter
but bleed brown needles
into a cold dead clutter

Meredith Jones.

If you've any comments on this poem, Meredith Jones would be pleased to hear them.

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