Photo by: Prairie Kittin
The cold is unapologetic, a mother’s grief, nostalgia
frozen in marble, a threat of inching forward in snow.
The cold is a punch in the chest. A kidnapped daughter.
A crack of heartbreak opens a river of frost, insistent
rapids dripping from fingertips once glowing with green
and offspring’s shoulders. A daughter’s head resting
on the mother’s breast, now a breast beating with cold,
snapping like twigs in ice. Not breaking once, but twice.
The cold comes without warning, locks us like Persephone
inside houses with pomegranate seeds and mac and cheese.
Shivering with moaning, the mother calls out, but there is
no signal. Nothing but waiting for the coming spring.
Carrah Lee Faircloth is obsessed with music and sound as well as many other things she uses as inspiration for her writing. She has published poems in Kakalak 2015, Kakalak 2016, and the forthcoming Kakalak 2017. She currently lives, works, and writes in Southeastern North Carolina and keeps a blog Buoy (https://wordpress.com/view/carrahleefaircloth.wordpress.com).