sonnet from the winter bedroom
when I’m happy again, will I know how to notice?
I remember the first warm breeze after she died
and how it made me wince. I haven’t thawed since.
but you don’t tense when my frozen toes find yours
beneath the fraying quilt. you tell me about each fire
you build and I stretch my grateful fingers toward
the memory of warmth. my problem is I always think
you’re hiding something. yours is that the coin never
makes it from your hand to behind my ear. I shrug.
what do I know? I’m afraid we’re only biding time
and you are better at pretending it out of your mind,
full on your words and work. the january ground
is ice now, and I’m not one to go at it with a pick.
I’ll wait. this could be the spring it all melts at once.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Ellen K. Fee (she/her) is an educator and writer from the Upper Midwest. Born in Wisconsin, Ellen graduated from the University of Minnesota and works with school-age youth in creative writing and publishing programs. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Flyway Journal, Reckoning, Reliquiae, West Trade Review, and stamped into the sidewalks of St. Paul, where she lives. She can be found on social media @ellenkfee.
Want more Ellen? See her other poem in this issue: scattered
miniskirt magazine 