Other Poems by:

Elizabeth High

Winter Dream

The wind is blowing neither this way nor that
I stand on the precipice of fall
The time of year that dangerously courts death
A brief reprieve from the starkness of winter
And the promise of spring
Seductive heat of summer
My skin is pale and dry
Flowers have crackled their way to death
Some may return, most will not
It is time to take down the hammock
Secure our little boat
Cold damages, you know
Winter turns us brittle and frail
Like the leaves that crackle
Beneath my feet
Only blackbirds will land on the sill
Vultures will feed on fat, white maggots
That have found their winter home
In some poor squirrell’s crushed skull
Next year it will be different
There will be peaches and plums
At our little fruit stand
The warmth will last longer
We will be happier
Foe now I accept the cold and welcome
It as it seeps into the marrow of my bones
It washes over this mountain
Like the gravediggers first shovel full of dirt
When he buries the dead
I wrap myself in thoughts of the open coffin
And the first flower of spring


Elizabeth High is an aspiring, yet, unpublished writer of fiction. She writes 
poetry because it keeps her from going on a rampage, is much cheaper than 
lithium, and has fewer side effects. Elizabeth loves the dark side and thrives 
off cosmic irony and rejection. She lives on a secluded mountain with her 
many observations and delusions.
**Copyright 2008 Elizabeth High, all rights reserved Send us your comments on this article
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