We try to keep the weather here controlled,
and so we softly barricade our home
with layers in between us and the cold.
We purchase cellulose in bales, and rolled
thick batts of cotton – anything that’s warm,
we try. To keep the weather here controlled,
we stuff the walls with all that they can hold:
fiber and paper, wool and foil and foam.
We layer this between us and the cold,
which every year seems larger and more bold;
it threatens us with every forecast storm
as we try to keep the weather here controlled.
Retreating from the darkness, we enfold
ourselves with love and patience, like a charm.
We layer this between us and the cold.
We labor to ensure these walls will hold,
will shelter us from any season’s harm.
We try to keep the weather here controlled
with all we layer between us and the cold.
Jennifer Highland’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Cider Press Review, Heron Tree, Festival of Language, the anthologies Done Darkness and Chronicles of Eve, and elsewhere. She lives and practices osteopathy in buildings she built and insulated herself to weather the cold winters of central New Hampshire.