I have never written a nice poem about winter. I refuse to. Winter, it seems, brings nothing about but cold and dampness and the soft lingering of the hopes of the summer. I beat my heart down into the ground and smush her with dirty snow. My brain slips into hibernation until spring comes. The sun never is out. The flowers are dead. I do not care about the quiet hush and the waiting. I am impatient. My hands twist and my knuckles crack. I will not write a nice poem about winter. I will not.
YOU ARE READING
hibernation: poems by colleen cosette goodman
Poetrypoems I wrote whilst waiting for spring. colleen cosette goodman © 2018
