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Show WINTER FUNERAL The snow blizzards against my face and death reaching from the grave surrounds me as I stand, chilling in frozen flowers and brittle light. I inhale winter into a small space of lung; it feels gritty, like sand in spinach. I shiver of things present and past as my tongue tastes the temperature and the bitterness clings to my mouth. My eyes blur in the wind, tears come; but whatever will warm me is not here. I breathe a prayer into my muffler and watch ice fall between us, as earth covers a metal house for the dead. I stamp my feet and bruise my hands. "You'll eat your spinach, No matter how cold it gets. ".. |
