The winter is like a guest
\nthat doesn’t leave.
\nIt stays foraging for the last seed.
\nLingers at the door
\nletting in the cold,
\nits dark sullen air
\ncreeping across my feet,
\nchattering on
\nabout one thing or another.<\/p>\n
I wait for the end
\nof an interminable,
\none-sided conversation,
\nmy eyes becoming
\nporcelain pearls
\nfrozen in place.
\nMy mind lost on a glacier
\nat the end of the world,
\nwith a catalog in the mail
\nadvertising flowers.
\nThe black rain that rinsed
\nsummer off the fields,
\nput in a closet
\nwith the gleaming mittens of frost
\nI rubbed on my cheeks.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The winter is like a guest that doesn’t leave. It stays foraging for the last seed. Lingers at the door letting in the cold, its…<\/p>\n