De­cem­ber Light


Room Magazine - - STEWART -

I gain noth­ing in this De­cem­ber light.

Last night’s shed clothes wrin­kle on cherry hard­wood, while so close be­hind me, he stands with scrunched morn­ing eyes.

His chest ten­ta­tively em­braces my goose-bumped back, we shud­der at the point of con­tact, two warm bod­ies hud­dled in this drafty base­ment. Could we ever gain any­thing in this De­cem­ber light?

I es­cape the strait­jacket arms to pick up my bra, metal­lic ca­nines seize the shaggy rug. I pause, un­able to look up to meet his scrunched morn­ing eyes, he stands so close be­hind.

On my knees, I look to the ledge where a can­dle bar­gains with air

— We could have burnt the house down.

Is re­gret all we can earn in this De­cem­ber light?

He moves to the stove, lights the gas, the el­e­ment flares

— Eggs pur­ga­tory? I look to the kitchen. He stands close enough; I view his pro­file with scrunched eyes.

I want to pass my fin­ger through the wan­ing flame, to be brave. I softly de­clare, There re­ally is noth­ing for us to gain in this De­cem­ber light— and then his scrunched morn­ing eyes close, and he is stand­ing be­hind me as he should.

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