Soup

The chattering of teeth in tandem with the rush of wind,
The flowing river careless to the bodies held within–
The ones it carried, the ones it froze.
Sure there was laughter, there was teamwork,
But mainly there was cold, and helmets slipping
And then a cry!
“Soup!”
That word carried us further than the river,
Out to the banks, and up the stone;
We wrung the shivers from our bones,
We hugged the bowls with warmth,
With warmth!
The greedy swallow of the heat,
The inner peace, the sheer relief.
Tomato soup, cilantro, and each other.

 

Shudder

A chain of chatter stretching long–
In waves they come, in waves they leave.
A roadside stone, a tree-lined path;
A grey-slick thing without a mouth,
Grinning wide and teeth all bared;
A breathless worm without it’s sight
Eyes glinting with the mischief of it all,
Creeping close and closer still–
Silent, smiling, staring, all sanguine.
The chain, so heedless of the danger, striding by,
The oh-so-little thing and it’s secret, silken strike.
It’s done!
The chain, now schrieking, screaming, squealing loud
And a red-slick thing retreating.

Sound

And on that night, feeling the sounds,
There were the sparking flames,
There were the croaking frogs,
But all of them were underlaid
With a sound that hummed through all–
The siren’s call that tugged on bones;
You heard the roar,
You heard the song.
You felt it deep within.