Worry and Comfort

by Jake Reynolds

worry moors at door creaks,
beds dead weights on floors,
hinges downstairs heaving:
sound of someone leaving.

a fugitive, born in taking
out the bins, children
quiver at squares of cold
air. this is fear. this is

sweat before beading.
thunder-grumbles trump
pining bellies, starved
on darkness, louder

than a heart. you see
them already running,
laughing, hands plaited
in furnace-finger figurines

before you even learnt
how to tie a tie or
turn the house off at night.
in dreams kerbs elude you,

screams escape as mews
yet love returns like fever,
scoops you in its arms,
offers leverage: a totem or

token of i-won’t-go. you learn
the world is divided into two:
the Comfort and the Worry.

the bet: love will not leave home.
wagers weighted on open palms:

1) words parcelled in a promise.
2) a wallet teeming with paper greens:
a new kind of solace.