Hygge Feature #1 Winter Cosy

Photo credit: Rachael Clyne

Hygge is about sharing, whether it’s soup, light in a power cut, peace, or time with friends, what ever we have to offer to help cope with difficult times, losses and sorrows.

What She Missed

The cold slow of mornings,
fetching coal, with cloud breath,
to a rupture of rooks,
their throaty rasp
and the winter-bare tree
standing against pallor of sky.
Then henhouse flurry
with its warm-shit smell.
All those lengthening evenings,
coaxing flames to mottle her shins,
as she sank into her armchair-nest,
by the scuttle.  She missed her big iron pot,
brimming with soup-spells.
Never the same twice,
‘This might taste good with that’.
Curry for parsnips, tarragon for celeriac,
chilli to liven pumpkin.
Always better next day,
flavours melded into steamy comfort.
All these she missed, but mostly
the stillness that drank her to its core.

Rachael Clyne

 

The Night The Lights Went Out

She took a small canvas bag
from the cupboard under the sink,
filled it with an assortment of nightlights –
vanilla, blueberry, winter spice –
added a couple of dumpy glass holders,
a box of matches, a bar of chocolate.
The house on the corner was in darkness,
the knock on the door answered
with a tentative ‘Who’s there?’
Years later, they laughed about the tea,
the water boiled in a pan on the gas ring;
the shortbread eaten straight from a tin
intended as a Christmas gift;
the chocolate eaten square by square;
the shimmering candle flames
shining light into the darkest corners.

Angi Holden

first published on Poets’ Corner at https://leavenerspoetscorner.wordpress.com/ 23.01.16

 

But our ashes only

there was a lot of dust
in the whole house
it was on the table
in the kitchen near the food
it was on the sofa
it was in the folds of the sofa
in the bedrooms there were
monsters made of dust
and we fought against them
every single day
trying to avoid being eaten
by all that dust

but when all works finished
when the dinner was eaten
when the studies were done
when the TV programmes ended

we sat on the balcony dimly lit
looking at the dark black sky
lighting a cigar and a cigarette
talking about everything
right in front of everything

and the ashes fell down
on the head of people
in our coffee cups
on the floor of the balcony
where there was no dust
but our ashes only

Mendes Biondo

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