Rejoice in the grey-gleaming gloom. Skies roll low enough for you to play master of your dirty-cloud domain—or is it smoke spilling from cautious chimneys? If all goes well, you will muster up a crass joke and get away with it, legs straddled wide as you laugh or spit. Until then, gather willow twigs to wattle a yard into a kingdom, a place to scatter broken crockery, a place for roosters to strut and for children to play at jousting.
Thatch yourself a house, stoke the fire, stuff straw into your boots.
February is short-tempered, and out of spite it could snip your fingers with frostbite or a careless blade. Think how unlikely it would be for this chill wind to blow in glad tidings.
Better cast a leery eye upon the world, then gesture it to hell. Your paper crown makes you king for a day, and messengers are for other courts. Gut full of waffles and ale, you take a golden piss against the tavern wall, but the sky, more continent, waits for the dark before sending snow falling.
Sleep in your village realm. Sleep dreaming of thatch, wattle, mullions, dark church glass, broken shutters, empty doorways, mud daub and shut gates.
Olivia J. Kiers
Olivia J. Kiers is an editorial assistant with Art New England magazine, and lives near Boston, MA. She holds a master's in the history of art and architecture from Boston University, and an undergraduate degree in French and fine arts from the University of Virginia. Her poetry and photography have been published in several reviews and zines, most recently Gyroscope Review, Bewildering Stories, and Sunset Liminal. To view examples of her artwork, please visit okayart.wordpress.com.
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