Jack

‘Jack’

I dared to venture out into the world and felt the stone cold grip of winter’s fist. I saw a glistening gift from Jack, with many swirls; his frosty fingers traced each icy twist.

Last night, a little liquid sustenance was gently poured into a whisky glass. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, and not a single sheep was counted past.  

My night was peaceful as I lay enfolded in its warm embrace. I think I nodded once or twice and softly slipped into that other place.

And waking in that land of dreams, I couldn't bring to mind a better place. I'll swear I felt the warming of the sun, and winter had all gone without a trace.

If Jack should, once again, reach out his long cold fingers, I can rest assured in knowing he cannot touch me even if he lingers.

—John Michael Robson

2018