Shivering in the past light that my ancestors let go, the fluttering beads of sun that go cold in the woods,
As I ran into the rushing stream of wintery bliss, running into the cold burst of light
You were rushing and running and whipping the hickory-soaked light into submission
Making holidays with hot oil and hard pills to swallow, drinking in bed with a new cold that is only cured by the blues
Thinking of that free feeling of that first breath of real cold settles inside of my lungs, rings of smoke that's invisible settling like a core memory that is also muscle memory
The muscle memory of cold and its impact on our years
The majesty of our doubled foibles and trickled traumas & the fucking heart break of our late-blooming love that was never meant to crack from the era of pained black night and cool blue winter morning —-the red earth soaked us up with its hungry cry.



Comments (4)
Excellent work, Melissa.
Oooo, I learned a new word from you today, foible. Your poem was so poignant and intense. I loved it!
Very well written!
Wow, do I ever like this line: ‘ Making holidays with hot oil and hard pills to swallow, drinking in bed with a new cold that is only cured by the blues’ Your entire piece is an absolute perfection on how to write.