January 26, 2009

A poem from “Glow” in response to Poetry Challenge 3:

I admit my guilt.
Grappling with the cold
its grimness
I felt its hands tighten around my throat
this time, this time, this time I would die.
An old nightmare: the cold, the dark, the despair.
I am guilty, oh yes.
Furtively, I scan the real estate ads
seeking a warm, bright, cheery flat
a cozy, sunny, summer room.
A river never locked in ice
its sparkles cartwheeling among the trees.

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