there's something beyond this fog
so ominous in the depths of february
when ice should be hanging from
our eyelashes
we both wish it were cold
for else how can we hold each other
for we burn so bright
in this dampness
is it here to keep us
under control
oppressive as it rolls in
over the mountains
early each morning
too early for headlights
we wait in the center of the abandoned streets
as fog engulfs us like an old friend
swirling around our fragile egos
a cushion for what is coming
when the sun burns that cushion off
it waits perched on his shoulder
yes him
standing at the corner
holding off what's left of the fog
while we scurry away
About the Creator
River Joy
I make things with paint and words and light. I was once described as an asshole with Mr. Rogers vibes.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
The Fish Song
The room didn’t smell like disinfectants. Its fragrance seemed light and not overbearing. A soft mixture of lavender and mint permeated the space. No beeping machines or any tubes hooked up to four-year-old Kaleeka. Her cacao skin seemed to glow from the light over her head. The family, save for one and the doctors and nurses exited the room like a trail of saints showing their last vestiges of regard.
By Skyler Saunders4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Ooooh, this is a very interesting poem indeed!! I'm so curious who the "him" is at the end. Could be representative of death, or some sort of finality was my first thought. I really enjoy your use of imagery and the way you almost personify the fog itself. You deserve more attention on this, River!!
The imagery in this one is so good!