1 min
By Jade M. Wong
If I hang from a chandelier of ice,
Will the cold seep into my bloodstream first,
Like the harbinger of a frozen curse?
Or will the oxygen that escapes
In panicked gasps through faint blue lips,
Usher in my life’s eclipse?
Gazing up at the chandelier of ice,
Perhaps today, I will only
Admire how it twinkles so magnificently.