The ignominy Of small things

laying flat on threads of deep cold, the majesty of the hard blue tips the grass as they petulantly lay flat about the syrupy nook of nature’s impermanence

Nature stays down to take its fervent rage

As a woman that climbs inside herself when one decides to conquer her

I lost everything more than once

The ignominy Of small things That I had sawed off like a frost-bitten toe

The culmination of all abuse that the old red wood fiercely takes

The beating of the winds, the carving of the smalls animals to keep the frost out

The boring of tiny insects that leave their entrances as exits that scar, heal, break

The frost hits after a long summer of quiet pain

It distills your glowering permanence that screams death in a silent, hollow nest of white

You cannot be unmade

Yet you must keep going on

Frosts covers you as a cocoon you will never break away from

The shame is covered by the roasted teal tundra, shaking your brutality like a net that cannot hold the big fish

Squirming, deteriorating

But never dead

It’s spilling the beans, the ugly truth that bears your weight down more than a disgraced mountain that tumbles its face upon your shoulders

You spill like an avalanche, hoping that it will change something, anything, everything

Instead

The quiet markings of being lost, abused, lonely and betrayed

are lost in the crunching, squishing, imprints of someone else’s heavy, heavy boots

The silence carrying a heavy grief in the salted, cyan gleam of heavy white

The first frost signified in a snapshot of life and death

The shape of shame

Detoured by Persephone’s agony

The cost of the ignominy for all small things

Small like me, as a cloud disappeared into space

As big love breaks down into fear, small

Small

Small.