Three Notes – a poem


1st note:

tree bark like topographic road map

channels sap to roots

in response to winter.

the wind pierces my ear numb.

I pedal into the wind like a pirate

who visions land craves rum.

this frosty exhaustion

brings tears to that which blinks

behind the steamy spectacle of sight.

if it has to get cold

I will have to acclimate myself.


2nd note:

the days devoid of brilliant sun

fall into each other

like shoppers in an icy parking lot.

I can tell how the day will end,

how the fallen snow is really a blanket

gathered in folds

even as wood smoke clings in cold air

and cushions the atmosphere.

3rd note:

still no sun,

my thoughts become a vapor of confusion.

neither caring nor caring if I do,

I press my face against the pane,

cold glass soothing my temple,

and ask the sky:

        is the other side the same

        as here in my brain?

        or is it just this glass,

        this window,

        this transparent alibi,

        that keeps us apart?


© Doreen Shababy