February

The cold has been here long enough

to feel like it lives here.

Like it has always lived here.

Like summer was the visitor

and we were wrong

to get attached.

I've stopped arguing with February.

That was never going to work.

February doesn't care

if you're tired.

February is tired too.

February has been February

for a very long time

and has its own concerns.

I've made a kind of peace.

I leave it alone.

I don't ask when it's leaving.

I made it tea.

Actually that's not quite right.

I made myself tea

and February was there,

which is how most relationships work.

I wear more layers now.

I go to bed earlier.

I eat things that are orange.

I read old books.

I have started noticing

small variations in the cold.

Some days it's dry.

Some days there is something gentle in it.

Some days the light shifts

by four in the afternoon

and you can see it

if you're paying attention.

I'm paying attention.

February noticed.

We looked at each other

across the kitchen table.

Neither of us said anything.

But we understood each other

better than before.

The cold and I.