Intrusion of Winter
an autobiography in cold
The cold, the wet,
Gray, eyeless dawn,
Winds of mocking winter
Hell
Is no better
When
You
Can skate
On it.
Fragile memory,
Soundless wail, chilled
Within a toxic womb
Thin blankets
Pulled up over head,
Suffocating to stop the cold
Lean jacket and tights
Against November rain,
Shivering no use
Feet against wall heater;
Bright snow brings no cheer,
Only more pain
Down jacket, half-empty
Of feathers, dreams
Postponed by winter
Rush to the door
Before shaking begins,
Hands already numb
Walk slow against white wind,
Avoid passing out,
Heart stronger than pain
Terror lest something loved
Is cold in blank night;
Fear is a wet wind
There is still
Frozen hell
In my heart and fingertips.
Hell
Is still hell
When
You
Can skate
On it.
This admittedly cryptic autobiographal poem was written for the #POMprompt ‘Intrusion’ at Fiddleheads and Floss Poetry…
…and for a little more of the story behind this poem, please see my series beginning here:
