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Sport 42: 2014

My Body is a Snowdome

page 136

My Body is a Snowdome

My body is shutting down.
When I open the fridge, I no longer feel
the cold air flowing
onto my feet.

I wear my hat and scarf to bed.
Somewhere, through the thick drifts,
my grandchildren lie cocooned
in their blankets.

I am pushing 70, and I may not
be quick enough
to reach them. By the time I get there,
they could be gone. I call

through the worsening weather
for them to hold on, hold on, I’ll soon be there,
but I’m not sure they can hear me, so
I plough on, toward the youngest’s room first,

which used to be around here somewhere,
under these piles of clothes she has dropped
for me to gather. She hasn’t taken
her hat and scarf—she’ll freeze.

It is so cold. You need a hat and scarf
to keep you warm when you are alone
and lost in the snow and deepening silence
and far-off a voice is calling to you

‘Grandad? Are you all right?’