Winter 07

Once I could scale you as a mountain and you'd moan.
On our sleigh bed we slid in slush and ice.
Now, numb hands let go the ropes, drop the reigns.

In the terminal, abandoning baggage to a carousel,
ferried on a mechanical sidewalk to end of the world,

gone are the hills and valleys of linen, a candle's hot
glance, and spilled wine, spreading pink and pale under
an uneven table. I have been a pillow on our mattress,

a coin between the cushions, a hanger in the closet,
I have lived too long in the down of the quilt.


	The Down of the Quilt By Rosemarie Crisafi

	Once I could scale you as a mountain and you'd moan. On our sleigh bed we slid in slush and ice. Now, numb hands let go the ropes, drop the reigns. In the terminal, abandoning baggage to a carousel, ferried on a mechanical sidewalk to end of the world, gone are the hills and valleys of linen, a candle's hot glance, and spilled wine, spreading pink and pale under an uneven table. I have been a pillow on our mattress, a coin between the cushions, a hanger in the closet, I have lived too long in the down of the quilt.

	Rosemarie Crisafi lives in Fishkill, New York. She works in for a non-for-profit agency that serves individuals with disabilities. Her poetry has most recently been published in Unlikely Stories, The Potomac, Eclectica Magazine, The Adroitly Place Word, Poetry Super Highway, Canopic Jar, Great Works, Brick & Mortar Review, Alba, and Red River Review. Her chapbook, Days of Reckoning, was also recently published by the Lily Literary Review.