Heart-frozen, tears turn to sleet – crystallized
salt tracks on red cheeks, an outline of pain
all too familiar. This time of year is
not among her favorites. Merry Christmas
and a happy New Year are foreign words
to a tongue twisted with memories.

Yet, as days grow longer, whispers of snow
replace the sting of words that splintered vows
with false confessions of love – too little
too late – forgotten. Broken silent
promises begin to fade; shattering
her patterns, left over from years ago.

A sense of falling – forward, not back, stirs
new resolve; opens possibilities.



You brought jewels for me
craddled in the fallen leaves
lit with morning sun




Heavy, squeaky snow
screeching drifts on the landscape
Winter’s fingernails


Twelve inches above
the ground; covered in winter
twelve degrees below


Fog steams the drive way;
warmth floods the heart and body
furnace is working



Cat on a Cold Snowy Roof

Creeping along, brushing under branches,
grey stripes blend with shadows from overhead.
Dancing cat leaves paw prints and snow angels
hiding beneath the leavings left from the fall.



Fire and Ice

When cold invades, snaking its way along
tendons, assaulting the muscle between
shoulder blades, he melts it away. Fingers
caress down the length of calf, a heated
touch cupping hips that ache – then with pain, now
with want – eases her from thoughts of warmth to
murmurs of desire; chill forgotten.
The crunch of tires on snow and ice fade
beneath the strains of Debussy. Music
soft enough to dream by relaxes her
into his arms, even as passion wakes.
Is it the room’s chill air kissing her flesh
or his mouth on her breast that excites her?
Fire and ice burn together tonight.

Black against the Grey
Fresh fallen snow scraped back reveals a pale
landing strip of concrete, invites a plague
of grackles to descend. I watch them land –
a puddle of oil-slick feathers rain
down, scatter across the shovel-bared ground.

They do not bring spring with their cries and fight
for food in the gravel-crusted snow pile;
remind instead of the days left before
farmers return to the field,  break open
soil to plow under winter’s bleakness.
Spellbound, I stop, smile at their name calling,
child’s play and teasing rings in their cry.
Then just as suddenly as they appeared,
they’re gone – a cloud of black against the grey.


Pins and Needles
Her aggravation penetrates the world
around her, denial an easy trip.
Heart racing, breath quick, emotions running
in a perpetual state – confusion –
she reaches out, steadies
herself on a cold wall – reality.
Not always her friend yet ever mindful
of the need to wake her from fantasies,
it shakes her from the escape. Memory
clouded behind the snow, tossed by the wind,
elicits warmth along with prickly pain;
a sleeping limb full of pins and needles.
On these mornings she wants to run away,
back to yesterday, when she didn’t know.