by Helen Losse
A lone jay soars past the icicle
into a corridor of ice and pine,
and I am not so sure
I want to be happy. Yes,
I have thought this through.
Outside my window
the dying teardrop forms
a pool. And I see my
reflection in the cold glass.
This seems to be
the time to wallow
in the serum of sadness,
the icicle dripping itself away.
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Helen Losse is the author of four collections of poems, including Seriously Dangerous (Main Street Rag, 2011) and Better With Friends (Rank Stranger Press, 2009), and is the poetry editor for the online literary magazine The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Her recent poetry publications and acceptances include The Wild Goose Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, Iodine Poetry Review, Blue Fifth Review, The Pedestal Magazine, ken*again, and Literary Trails of the North Carolina Piedmont. |
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