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Letters to New England MAG
December 7, 2012
i.
It's always coldest
When frost creeps up my window
And I remember
That yours is still dripping
And bejeweled with East Coast rain.
ii.
I miss the city
That housed my happiest years
But not half as much
As the smell of your shampoo
Lingering on my pillow.
iii.
The snow weighs heavy
On the cracking limbs of trees
And in the space
Between my lips and your cheek.
Winter's never felt so wrong.
© Lindsey D., Marblehead, MA
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