WITHDRAWAL FROM SNOW AND ICE
- 2 days ago
- 1 min read
By Peter Devonald
Back here again in the hospital made of snow,
we shiver as IV drips into the back of our hand,
another catheter for another broken memory.
We fade as twilight is a hush of whispers
in the wind, as snow shudders in with promises
it cannot keep, in a ward of last regrets.
Our heart is made of crystal, our bones are made
of glass, our lungs full of ground-glass opacities,
our skin weakens, fragile as angels wings.
We watch the stacking up of snow as we fold
into the night; more medications casually tossed
into tomorrow, winter wraps loosely around us.
We’re dying. We’re living. We’re swooning.
Snow falls deep as all our regrets. We watch shadows
grow wings, wonder where all promises go to sleep.