MERCY, MARTHA

by December 2, 2008 0 comments

Wind’s whirling, flakes walking,
stiff brown leaves marching like soldiers.
Is this the winter you imagined?
You grew up in the day when
children tobogganed down hills
or skated on frozen lakes
but you’re the only one here.
The world is indoors. Old people
sleep. Parents argue. Children
play video games, kill the
wind, flatten the flakes, mow
down the leaves with their weapons.
The real thing is forbidden.
You disobey, cheeks red, bones clattering,
a clump of wet snow in your fingers.

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