Either February or March

by Brenda Morisse
Wild Poetry Forum
Second Place, June 2018
Judged by R.T. Castleberry


I am wintertime at the brink of an introduction
my keepsakes etched into my hands –
the laugh lines, worry, and chain links of fate.
Triangles that confine until wrinkled.

The magical synchronicity, how the palm ages with a new transparency,
just as well, I’m too tired to pretend,
I flaunt my spine of light. The brittle loneliness and its indifferent posture –
how they pull at my skin. I’m a frozen lake. I’ve stopped planning for the thaw.

The inflexible ice redeemed by the vibrancy of reflection.
That stubborn cold. I wriggle my feet into socks. I am warm,
I throw off the covers, I am cold, I cover up again.
The strained tempo beneath my cleavage accompanies me, I undress

the walls of their self portraits. I rearrange the closet, pair earth
with the gold tones, prepare for longer days that appear to be tightening.
Spring! The noose of my life line chokes me.
I dangle the stone of my legs.


from first to last, filled with evocative imagery that delineate the aging process: I am wintertime at the brink of introduction; I’m a frozen lake. I’ve stopped planning for the thaw; I dangle the stone of my legs. --R.T. Castleberry