the day before snow

A devil’s club graveyard all that remains,

bones of a mighty clubbed fortress

reduced to small brown skeletons,

silent, still scaffolds of what once was.

This is how you say madrugada in English–

the coldest, darkest, undead hour

when spirits roam the earth, right before

the first snow: 

the rainforest so dry and quiet

bones and shapes, negative space,

the air sucked right out.

This poem was first published at Plum Tree Tavern

Photo by Linford Miles on Unsplash

1 Comment

  1. damn great riddling piece… Off the top of emptying your mind– I could top off numerous ways like 6 given hugs d daily, 2bathroom trips, 9th noting joyful noise, 2 da classic ja vu reminisce & 8 phasing stages = 24 creative words no poet! can imagine take me back to Aushwish lace this ghettos t-shirt from south border in yellow strips dedicated memory of Noemi Ban 1922 & so my late veterans daughter we thank-you bear- ing more then 17 dollars worth bread, coffee & grapes


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