When the maple wore its mantilla of white ice-lace
and the snow annulled all the bumps and holes in the yard,
she decided to leave him.
She snuck out from under the comforter —
he was snoring,
and she wore no slippers.
Suddenly, while standing barefoot in the middle of the kitchen,
the moonlight caught her.
The glare of its light accused her.
And she could not ignore
the hard cold fact of linoleum.
So that is why she was there when he woke up
and asked why her feet were so cold.
© Barbara Burt
One thought on “Cold Feet”
intriguing story well told
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