Skip to main content

Winter, Ithaca

ISSUE:  Winter 2013

Tonight I walk out into winter’s fingers
stepping from one stone

and onto another,
the stones receding into darkness

as I leave them. Smoke from a home fire
roams the air. Snow comes.

My shoulders go soft—
two blades loosening into the spine—

and for once I’m a witness,
not a careless warrior, who watches the leaves

as they turn and die, and Jon
is leaving. Lynn is lying

about her life, so I can’t help her.
I’m miles away

so I can’t hold her or hold her down.
But what is the cold

compared to the fire?
Where does the rage go?

The road’s packed with snow.
Black tea steams

between my hands and I drink it down
until it burns.


This question is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.

Recommended Reading