Winter Morning

Evangeline Rockwell

It is impossible to know the time

as the light from the ash-colored sky 

slides around the cracks 

between the window and the shade 

like liquid

The farthest corner of the house is always cold 

especially in the mornings 

But one needs to get up and face the day 

sooner rather than later 

Movements sluggish as I pry myself from 

my warm blanket’s clutches 

and hurl myself into the icy grasp of the chilled air 

Bare feet on bare floorboards 

A frigid combination

I brace myself

A flurry of sudden movement 

The rush from warm pajamas 

into the day’s clothes 

as fast as possible without 

braving the chill for very long 

For the rush of cold air against bare skin is 

not the kiss of a lover 

but rather the shiver of nails down one’s back 

Something to be avoided 

Sweater 

Jeans 

Socks 

Running fingers, then comb, through hair 

“Good enough” 

Stumbling, disheveled

I find my way downstairs

To warmth 

The smell of coffee and wood smoke 

logs crackling in the fireplace 

Coals glowing orange in the ashes 

that match the sky

Evangeline Rockwell is a junior at St. Anselm College majoring in English, with minors in Humanities, French, Theology, and Great Books. She is heavily involved on campus as a resident assistant, a member of the choir, a student worker in the Advancement Office and in the Dana Center, and many other things. When not doing one of those numerous things, she enjoys reading anything she can get her hands on, singing, cooking, baking, and spending time with her friends. She is honored to be both published in the journal, and to be a part of the humanitas editorial staff this year.