Winter shattered the city,
marking buildings with sorrow.
I dread the wooden morning:
my black and salty shoes, crusting,
and the wind straining the fence,
again and again,
the shells of confused people, wheeling,
sick of wanting light, wanting green.
All day, I see the weary, searching,
hear the noise of my soft heart,
a stricken sound that breaks overhead
with wild need, loud and true.
If I could reach the dooryard to the day,
turning the handle to a happy-here,
have that sweetpea sweetness once again,
I long for purple rooted near...
Outside, the shook bell is groaning, Maine!
*every word is from Edna St Vincent Millay's THE EXILED.
This is a cut word poem. I rearranged the words and changed the theme.
**I chose to take a summer poem and flip it, writing of winter.