No Anchor For Rancour
Icicles hung from the roof
like translucent fingers
Clawing towards the ground
While behind the eaves,
She brushed her plain brown hair
Tired gray eyes in the mirror,
Discolored around the fringe
And gravity pulled at the frown
Like it did everything else
She was one of many,
A soul, a body
With all the glitter rubbed away
Winter breathed out its discontent
A heaving sigh that scattered leaves
Over mailboxes, churches, graveyards
You can lose yourself in those fields out there
Mired in snow, as countless as crows
As tin men, as a brick in the wall
And when three young girls,
All smiles and apple cheeks and roses
Walked by her window, she cast those grey eyes down
From above— her jaw nutcracker clenched
New England January froze her eyes
A hand clenched and unclenched
at their sparkly laughter
The brush rattled to the floor
As the girls disappeared from her line of sight
She was already a thousand miles away
Up into the cirrus clouds,
Each inch colder than the last
Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2023
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