Poetry

Untitled no. 88

I remember when the streets were that special kind of muddy.

The kind that existed when the snow was just cold enough to make a dirt pepper with the effervescent sand.

The wind swept over,

Leaving cattail snow drifts. Not cold enough to stay, not warm enough to melt.

‘Til the sun beat down mercilessly

And life melted back into normal.

Such as it was.

M.

Spring

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