The First Night Home
There's no comfort without contrast
The first night home
I close the door
And drop my pack
The furnace
Nudged by outside air
Awakens
Its blessed breath
Whispering relief
Not yet, not yet
My bending back protests
Still-stiff fingers loosen laces
Mud-caked boots take flight
Landing in a cloud of
Cracked clay and detritus
My feet, now free
Tender, near weightless
Throb with thanksgiving
Reveling in release
Spongy socks print footsteps
On bare boards
In mockery of thousands
Left along the trail
In the bathroom
I turn the taps
And use the toilet
As the bathtub fills
So does my grateful heart
The time is now
I strip off clothes
Step in and sink
My battered body
Deep as it can go
In seeping heat
Amidst the steam
I grasp the truth, unvarnished:
The opposite of comfort
Is camping
About the Creator
Denise Shelton
Denise Shelton writes on a variety of topics and in several different genres. Frequent subjects include history, politics, and opinion. She gleefully writes poetry The New Yorker wouldn't dare publish.
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If You Love Me, You'll Do It
I met Jason when I was five years old. I could say that I loved him from the moment I saw him. He was so handsome to me and I felt in awe by his presence. When they introduced him as the new kid in school, I wanted to be his friend right away. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember his smile and how he didn't seem shy. He appeared confident and ready to learn. I waved at him and said "hello," before anyone else could even say a word. He sat next to me, and I asked him if he wanted to be friends. He looked so happy as he said, "Yes!"
By Sidney Smith (Sid Smith)6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Love your bio. And love your poem even more! I've been there
I *felt* this :) beautifully written