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anna
robin
peyton
selin
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(6)
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private
(9)
poetry
(little town, no name)
jagged mountains in the
distance
knife points cutting
the expansive sky
clouds blot out the sun
bleaken the light
that strains pathetically
through
the
cracks
/
they used
to stand taller
brushing the stars
forming an immovable
wall
around a town
it only just
barricades now
/
people
hardened and rough
sly jokes
aimed at each other
careless thoughts
floating by every corner
/
a few streets
greyed with time
faded from the
endless snows
that blow
through
/
buildings
short and angry
weathered by the sleet
never old enough
/
rebuilt
from the constant
destruction
of the gale
/
a pond shallow
the water hardly
broken
/
ice seeps
across
holds the clear
blue waters
hostage
a brief melt
allows children to brave
the chill
/
for the most part
it’s an ice skating spot
gouged in cuts and bruises
from blades
criss-crossing
painting images
memories of the
cold
/
towering pines
sweep the streets
arching
drooping heavily
with the
snow
smothering
the needles and branches
underneath
/
they huddle in droves
whispering
about the mountains
at its feet
talking about
how battered and worn
he looked
and how he hardly
beats back
their
brothers and sisters
anymore
/
grain fields lie cold
the earth torn up and hard
like a field of bedrock
unsuitable for life
flocked by chickadees
dotting the surface
crying
wondering when
the sun
will push the clouds
away
scorch the earth
and feed them again
/
shovels line the walls
of a battered and
beaten
old wooden shed
rusting
of disuse
the famers have given up
wearily yearning
for a hint of green
lies hidden
under the crust of ice
/
further out
deer and bears
play a harrowing game
of hide and seek
the rabbits watching
narrowed eyes
and empty stomachs
are their only
company
/
mountains
do nothing
to keep out the chill
act as a cage
to the inhabitants
let the wind slide through
pulling coats tighter
making the rippling water
harden
under its laughter
it enjoys dancing on the
graves in the cemetery
and snapping storm doors
open then closed
/
coffee
dirty water
just enough to keep you
awake
runs their systems
cracks open their eyes
to the dull linoleum
smudged spoons
ripped stools
the tired smile of
the waitress
she taps a pen
counting down the minutes
on the clock
/
small town
no name
nestled in the belly
of a mountain
important to the lives
of the people it cradles
yet they yearn to escape
drag hand over foot
past the knife points
the sunken snow
and through the whispering trees
aiming for the little lights
distanced further than
their ambition
aug 20 2016 ∞
aug 27 2018 +