Old Winter

Old Winter

Her words fall
frozen and frostbitten like lumps of lead
from bitter bruise-purple lips
to shatter on the hard December earth
There's another run in her
black pantyhose
and the scuffed black purse
with the ugly brass clasps
and the woven leather strap that's been
broken for years
finally just snapped
and she says she's lost everything...
You can almost see
the alcohol on her breath in
the vapor that rises like a little prayer
to the banshee moon
that hangs in the sky
like a sponge soaked in iodine
and everything reminds me of him anymore
as the snow leaks out of the tired gray
skies and falls
so loud my head aches
and I can't see
my reflection in the ice-black
lake water
distorted so much I almost look beautiful
with eyes uncried
and face unmarked.
She screams for me
from the blackened doorway
in that awful ice-voice
like a million-million rusty hinges...
I don't even try
to pretend I don't hear her
anymore
it's just not worth it
like planting seeds in the wrong season
nothing grows on my island of ice
and my face
is glazed with salt and tears
shiny in the blue-black
starlight
and he's gone away forever.

Copyright Erin Pfeiffer, 2005.