These are troublesome times for coupled-in and singled out alike. How can I uncover my union with God and the other in this unrelenting solitude? How can she recover her heaven-sent solitude with God through earth-bound union with the other? I would rather have her here to hold and comfort me on this last cold morning of November, and in the many cold mornings to come. Instead, I have only this stubborn wood that has caught fire, finally. But I am not comforted. I am bundled but buffeted. I walk outside and feel the wind rushing in; it cuts through my many threadbare coats to the raw skin.
3 thoughts on “Troublesome Times”
Your writing is incredible! Your pen speaks your heart.
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As true on this 22nd of March as on the last day of November. This poem speaks to my heart.
Bundled but buffeted—I love how that sounds, and its paradox