Fire and Ice, Sugar and Spice

Chapter Seventeen-Poetry

Chapter Seventeen

Poetry

*Akilina's POV*

After washing the dishes, I explore the house a little more, much to Bucky's dismay. Unfortunately, he'd found a spare shirt in one of the bedrooms and put it on, despite my protestations. It's a typical log cabin. Everything is wood and the colors are dark reds, greens, and browns. There's no tv, I'm guessing the people who own this place want to get away from everything when they come up here. There are some small bookshelves to either side of the door that I look through, enjoying the smell of the old pages and leather binding. I can't help myself when I find a poetry book. I sit on the couch as James fiddles with all the little things he's collected around the house, content just to be near him.

"You know, you might as well read aloud if you're going to whisper the words like that." James interrupts me, laughter on his lips. I roll my eyes, but I wasn't even aware I had been whispering the words out loud. I get up and grab the stool beside the fireplace, picking it up and setting it beside him at the desk with a grunt.

"Okay. I'll read to you." I go back to the beginning of the poem I was reading and start again out loud after Bucky's done chuckling. "Where my Books Go by William Butler Yeats.

All the words that I gather,

And all the words that I write,

Must spread out their wings untiring,

And never rest in their flight,

Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,

And sing to you in the night,

Beyond where the waters are moving,

Storm darkened or starry bright."

I sigh happily at the words and the strange comfort poetry always brings me, then turn to the next page. "Deirdre, by Yeats again.

Do you remember that first night in the woods

We lay all night on leaves, and looking up,

When the first grey of the dawn awoke the birds,

Saw leaves above us? You thought that I still slept,

And bending down to kiss me on the eyes,

Found they were open. Bend and kiss me now,

For it may be the last before our death.

And when that's over, we'll be different;

Imperishable things, a cloud or a fire.

And I know nothing but this body, nothing

But that old vehement, bewildering kiss."

I breathe out, trying not to cry. I shut my eyes for a minute to compose myself and open them to find James looking at me, an amused smile on his face. "Why do you like poetry so much?" He asks, reaching over and brushing a tear off my cheek. I shut the book and put it on the desk, out of his and my way.

"Uh, well. My mom would read me a poem every night before I went to sleep." I lay a hand on my side as I sigh painfully. "I remember she would cry sometimes after reading them and one day I asked her why." My lips automatically form a small smile at the memory. "She told me the world is hard and it tries to make others hard too, but there's always beauty in the world. There's beauty and softness and love to be found everywhere, even if you have to bring it yourself. Crying about something simple like poetry was how she kept herself soft and bringing it everywhere was how she brought beauty everywhere." I shrug. "I guess I just emulate her." I explain the best that I can. James' eyes are soft and tender as he looks away from his project and at me instead.