Flash Fiction: Falling #121 by Ryan Van Winkle
Poem from Edinburgh-based writer
by Ryan Van Winkle
Winter and I cannot remember
a single breakfast. All the problems
have become snow: not the drinking
nor the distance, it is the snow.
It has been falling for months,
gets ploughed to the side of the road,
envelops the short Christmas days;
sheathes her long nipples, the pond
is useless, layered with froth.
The snow has hidden the solutions,
the consequences, the map.
And in the dark it settles white,
blows thin onto the porch
where she sat for the sun.
Ryan Van Winkle's poetry collection is Tomorrow, We Will Live Here (Salt)