Winter Worn Wit
Close to nothing
The song of this day’s birds drowns out an old hound’s cry
Crystals so wet, forming in sunken eyes
At most, I am hidden; I am never gone–
Who am I after I am forever left behind?
I think of everything you could have said
Crumbling, then crushed by usual silence
It was surely not easy, my love–
As your burden, I almost abided.
Many moments secured initial compliance
Velour you wove kept me easy and quiet
I am hardened ice on freezing Sundays–
I forgive you forever. I have no more fight left.
What remains are flashes that lash me
Hard to let go, my furniture remembers your laughter
Your ashy breath right there after, the final departure–
I have morphed into a whining dog, abandoned by my master.
Being and Feeling
Kiss the ground on which they stand,
Smile at him, shake the gnarled hand,
Learn to love each wrinkle, bump, and tan.
What remains pure will be born again.
Bathed in time and battered by wind
The baby girl clings to whom she calls ‘friend.’
Open eyes, wispy hair, and poreless skin.
She will never be taught how to live again.
In everything, we are maddeningly innate.
Why must the father witness his child’s fate?
He knows to take his life on that darkened day,
But, as his eyes shut, he remembered your name.
Years go by, you know how life moves quick.
Others say you knew both too short to visit,
The rock in your chest; you know not to listen.
Don’t let it eat you, how many years it's been.
Stand beside the mossy forgotten grave,
God gave you hands to brush the dirt away.
You can use your grief to keep things clean,
Your love is everything’s utmost necessity.
The Cap of Ice and Christmas
Melt the ice from your windows and door,
Count the hours it takes until I fear it no more.
I whispered a prayer into your ear by the stairs;
I know it won’t bring something never there.
Whatever I have built could not lock us both in.
Who do you live for? What do you know?
This you ask while standing with one foot out in the cold.
Take the plunge, then come back and talk to me.
I know you believe in ‘change,’ but I disagree;
Whatever you think is what you will always be.
Buy the garland, and we’ll decorate the pine tree.
Choose to let the lights give me god-awful sleep.
I have to spend hours deciding what I am meant to be.
I know now less than I did before–how so not funny.
Whatever you choose is never your destiny.
WRITTEN BY
Giulia
As the world seems to hurl past me, I find myself compelled to catch up. A way to stay present for me is by appreciating art, from fashion to cinema to music. This means making art accessible and thus engaging readers, as sharing my love for culture is one of my greatest passions in life.
