The rain is flung against the windows
in periodic splatters —
the glass holds the cold at bay,
as does the heat,
indulgently set high
to try to hold back, too,
the hard-flung shafts
of doubt, of indecision,
and the slow seep
of suspected missed connections
that I imagine
would warm me to my core

There is a shelter
that has harbored me before
and I will find it
after my introspection
and my letting go
when I reach out
with my empty hands
and let what holds me
bear me up
from underneath.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 16, 2014