My words freeze
and clatter against the sidewalk.
I could believe my blood
reversing its magnetism,
making flight possible.
Bitter breath,
like shards of winter,
charging my particles
with something more
than cold.
About the Creator
Megan D. Robinson
elf by inclination.
lover of words, dancing, and witchcraft.
journalist, poet, storyteller, visual and performing artist.
abuse surviver, single parent with adult child, former dog mom.
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More stories from Megan D. Robinson and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Singer So Shy
She stood near the cold fireplace, watching the second-hand tick down to the hour. In another minute, the clock's bird would emerge and warble the hour. She reached up and touched the clock, tracing the gentle slope of the farmhouse roof, then trailing down the lilac strewn side, to the white fence framed dooryard. She wished she was there, where the air would smell of lilacs rather than smoke.
By Judah LoVato7 days ago in Fiction
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