The chill of the months are known to stagnate feet and freeze fingers. Anticipate the cold and lonesome. Pain clenches fists in a grotesque coil. It knows where to find you. But here is not where it ends. Come May the sun will lighten chestnut locks and brown the pale skin of under arm. If you are lucky, and I know you are, you will be able to watch sunrise over ocean and know this world will continue. As the earth spins, You are a child twirling in the sunlight until your knees give out. Look toward the sea and sunshine. I know not everyone will see it, but you will. It will return. For right now, listen, The crash of waves, the curl of toes against sand, sunlight reflected in unkempt hair. they are here only for you. Wild
Our hunger was never so animal as it was on the Cold Moon, never so bloody as the first of the month. We salivated; the slick of the bone, the cut of tooth on tenderloin. Counted pulse beats and tick of time, dripped words like weapons. In a hurry, panting and pacing, a dog, not of war, but of conquest, of revolution. By winter we didn’t have enough meat on our bones to gnaw against our gums. We never really learned how to survive off of more than each other, to scavenge feathers falling soundless, the ruffle of the lost. It was our isolation that buried white teeth deep in the earth.
Katrina Kaye is a writer and educator living in Albuquerque, NM. She is seeking an audience for her ever-growing surplus of poetic meanderings. She hoards her published writing on her website: ironandsulfur.com. She is grateful to anyone who reads her work and in awe of those willing to share it.