by Josie McCall
Within this brick igloo,
Beneath a solid grey sphere of sky,
I sit and hear the wind keening,
While the rain washes the pebble circle.
Things I took for granted I would always know,
The exact colour of her eyes,
Or how she used to wear her hair,
I cannot recall clearly anymore.
I’m growing cold,
With the frost of forgetting.
Is this the last betrayal?
The absence of a sense of loss?
Spring bursts with life.
I need to move on.
I can’t move on.
Beneath a solid grey sphere of sky,
I sit and hear the wind keening,
While the rain washes the pebble circle.
Things I took for granted I would always know,
The exact colour of her eyes,
Or how she used to wear her hair,
I cannot recall clearly anymore.
I’m growing cold,
With the frost of forgetting.
Is this the last betrayal?
The absence of a sense of loss?
Spring bursts with life.
I need to move on.
I can’t move on.
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