House Arrest

This entry is part 20 of 28 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2014-15


Weeks of rain or snow or any long stretch of bad weather
make, of course, for cabin fever. And cabin fever breeds
all kinds of nostalgia, because most likely the warmth
we seek cannot be completely delivered by the down-
filled comforter or the lotion-lined boucle socks
bought at the drugstore post-Christmas sale. To fill
the canyon-like longing in the gut is a marathon endeavor,
requiring several box sets of movies and a matching hunger.
Not only do we want to eat everything in sight, but first
fry it in fat, then toss in some salt and sugar. We’ll want
bowls of starch: rice, mashed potato, mac and cheese, pierogis,
Shanghai style dumplings, hot dan-dan noodles, chili cheese fries
till snot runs down our faces. Then we’ll feel gross and fat
and rueful, anxious for the first sign of clearing skies,
for icicles to break off the eaves and stab with vigor
into the tofu-like wasteland that used to be a yard.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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