The Cold

The Cold

(“He loosens the bonds made by kings and binds a waistcloth about their loins.” Job 12:18)

Here we are upon the Columbia shore,
cold gripping our breath, quiet settling like
frost upon our hearing. Days and years pass
along with memories of rebukes once lasting
past the seasons of snow.

It was your words once bound my head with a
cheesecake shell tightened like lug nuts.
It was your face asking questions out of place
in public where everyone could hear.

I remember it well, and sometimes my gut
recalls what I have forgotten. But the
cold is quiet today, and the frost is likely to
stay just a few days longer.

My sins may circulate in the wind, if not the papers,
and I have read them well, signed them, and bound them
over for your consideration.

I never requested teeth for teeth, just a hand raised
when I asked if you would like to rephrase your questions.

Your sins circulate as well as mine, but there is no
autograph accompanying the crime.

But today, for once, the quietness is no intrusion,
the cold holds no foreboding. Just a silence showing me
my hands are uncuffed,
and a shiver that says I am only shaking because it is
winter.