Intrusion of Winter

an autobiography in cold

A. Christine Myers
1 min readNov 11, 2019


Photo by Viktor Kern on Unsplash

The cold, the wet,
Gray, eyeless dawn,
Winds of mocking winter

Is no better
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.

Is still hell
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: