from the archives

frigophobia

by patricia colleen murphy

I wake to the scrape of a noisy drawer.

We've gone away on a trip? But all night:

the high-pitched bark I thought was my

own dog. Here's the whole room, thick

with behaviors. Are we still angry hangs

but fleets. I'm too disoriented to hold a

grudge, the energy! and all my movements

are incorrectly matched with verbs. Today

we'll start our 8 day climb on Kilimanjaro.

We'll commit to freezing, to needing each

other in foreign ways. When we get mad like

we've been bitten, what will we do, up there?

In our thick parkas. Made into mimes by

mittens. How will we throw the proper

tantrums? You're shuffling bags and pads

while I linger under covers, contemplating

sleep at 10 below: noses exposed, heat a

distant memory. What are we going to do?

When we look up and realize the stars are

not where they should be?

Want to read more from Patricia Colleen Murphy? You can find three poems and an interview in issue 9.1. Learn more at her website, too: patriciacolleenmurphy.com.