any sense

of winter celebration

has long faded, yet

we are in the heart of the heart of winter.

This long lingering feels

like cultural failure. I beg

for twinkling lights on snow as the days

crawl toward longer light.

——

a lonely soul sees

no celebration

in pink and red

hearts, only another

rejection. despair is the sad sister

of celebration.

—–

ski tracks in the snow

and mud lead

to where we once were

and I cry

 

I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed media/writing piece I am working on entitled Love Letters to My Brother in Prison.