Unarmed

Walking the lonely path under a leaden sky,
pierced by winter-stripped overhanging branches,
my feet were bleached and puckered
in sodden shoes, unarmed against the weather.

Pierced by winter-stripped overhanging branches,
my arms were colder still,
and I, in sodden shoes, remained unarmed against the weather
as splashing footsteps approached quickly from behind.

My arms were colder still
than the warning in my heart
as splashing footsteps approached quickly from behind
and I risked an over the shoulder glance.

The warning in my heart
did not prepare me for the warmest voice
and I risked another over the shoulder glance
at that voice, issuing from under a too small umbrella.

I was not prepared for the warmest voice,
the timbre of melted kisses and cinnamon toast,
a voice issuing from under a too small umbrella
that offered shelter in a tentative tone, daring me to accept.

Melted kisses and cinnamon toast
became the breakfast meal for two connected souls
after shelter was offered, in a tentative tone that dared me to accept
the inner warmth of shared shelter, and the lesser chill of outer, uncovered arms.

Tracy Plath