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[01] Winter electric

by Christina Gleason

This is an inexcusable winter,
mild and gray, immovable
beyond the houses of Beacon Street
on their high cliffs, swaying
to the gale, praying to the winds
for white Feburary washes
but only finding storms,
furious and brown

This winter confuses us into heat
until, beyond our doors, we scratch
our nails at bedframes and thighs,
until the wounds bloom bright
and fragrant while we face impregnant
truths about our barren youth,
our warm and useless ground,
our empty wombs.

But the air is alive with static,
and my fingers are still electric,
against the neck, through hair,
on every soft belly I see and how
the skin alights with spark and fizzles
or steadies its kinetic glow,
this spring will never know -
I will never know.

03/02/2006

Posted on 03/02/2006
Copyright © 2024 Christina Gleason

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