She pours the tea. The darkness pours itself through the kitchen window, surrounds the cup and the cigarette that droops from her lips. Somewhere out there is an icy lake. Somewhere out there is a crack sucking everything down – her son, even the light. Snow piles up against the door. Icicles point down from the eaves. It’s cold but that’s how she needs it. Or, at least. she feels it’s what she deserves. The eye that let that boy out of her sight is content to see so little. And the voice that didn’t cry out, that failed to warn him, has given up on speech. Besides, the wind wails outside, takes the part of not just one, but infinite deaths.
About the Poet:
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and the Round Table. Latest books, “Leaves On Pages” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon.