Comfort

(this is a poem I wrote last year but forgot to press the "publish" button)

Comfort sounds like an old jazz standard or a friendly conversation through the screen door.
It is the turning pages of a book or slippered footsteps on the wooden floor.

Comfort looks like a patchwork blanket and my comfy woolen socks.
It is a sun-dappled lane through the orchard and coloured crayons in a box.

Comfort tastes like buttered toast and salted brazil nuts
It is the little wooden spoon that comes with icecream in a tub

Comfort is lemons and burlap and paper and cork
It is caramel and the ocean and a home-roasted pork

Comfort is corduroy and a cat sleeping in the sun
Comfort is hugs and home and being loved by someone.

In Drought

I'm not thirsty
I have a place to sleep
I've clothes to wear
I have enough to eat

But I'm in drought
I lack
I am falling... falling back

Back to front
Up and down
Wheels spinning
But never turning 'round

And I'm in drought
All my water's
Seeping through the cracks

Cracks in walls
That are falling down
Losing shelter
Losing ground

Cuz I'm in drought
I lack
I'm no longer... intact