Member-only story
POETRY
Winter
Winter is steel
a hard grey
illuminated by a side-eye sun
dramatically angled away
absent while it minds
the otherside of the world
warming its belly
Winter is slate
chipping in layers
while we fumble for
new beginnings with frosty fingers
piled and stacked like boxes of
furs in a neglected attic
trying to strike the flint
of January against the rocks
of old memories, trying
to resurrect the drive we sent
packing on holiday,
bellies over-full
as a well-stuffed peddler’s pack
Winter is a present
if we are willing to squint into the wind
and into the approaching distance
where life chisels newness
into existence one chip at a time
I finally put away the Christmas decorations and have transitioned into celebrating / appreciating winter — such as it is! Thank you for reading!