Winter glass
is yellowed with old sun
mottled by bird claws
resembling stained relief
a mustard bath
enclosing grief
fields are reaped clear
left to darken
shaken fallow
like wands of sadness
where once they were bright
alive with mice and voles
claiming their hidden kingdom
ears of corn straining upward
unfolding as sun shines
we forget to wipe windows clear
when clouds descend and rivers
closing off air
closing off movement
we retire in our woolen worlds
tucking our chins against brutal cold
like robins closing their red breasts
and the light that gets in
is tainted
like long left cigarette
stains thumb and forefinger
betraying a little of the smokers emotion
as she holds it
sparking in darkness
inhaling her grief
like swallowing words
goes unseen
beneath the ice of defeat
we who clamor without tongues
who fill our mouths with knowledge
no one is there to listen
we who close our doors at night
to the sound of hibernation
keeping out those who would
tear us from rigid postures
make scarecrows in blizzards
of our rags and scoured bones
for who knows?
how another feels behind walls
or how it feels to be touched by
dirty light letting in the reminder
we are but fields of yellow
turning brown and beginning once more
each time a little less steady
in our long walk

0 Replies to “Winter glass”

  1. The visuals in your poem haunt me in a good way.
    After reading your poem I felt a sense of loneliness, depression, or the existence of everything that we are feeling in our planet.
    What I’ve always loved of your work from the beginning, is you hold nothing back and you let us the readers have it. Gosh! I am so lucky you are my sister. I love you so much! 🙂 <3

    1. i wish i could read your twitter but i sort of hate twitter aside your twitter which is hilarious and brilliant can you give me your handle again so i can at least read it once in a while? ps thank you sweetheart you are the most lovely and such a good muse – i hope you read that poem i wrote a few days ago about you xo

          1. You’re going to make me look for it now, aren’t you? My highly developed sense of modesty might not let me realise it’s about me though 😉

          2. ha ha ha! You’re right, you wouldn’t know. I love that because you’re all that and you don’t think you are, that’s the best way to be, it keeps you real. I’ll email you.

  2. Reblogged this on Richard M. Ankers and commented:
    Just had to reblog this. Incredible!
    And to anyone who doesn’t realise, this is Candice Daquin’s NEW TheFeatheredSleep poetry site. Do yourself a favour and follow it if you don’t know her, and if you do, you’re probably already there.

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