Winter is real, I know because the little juncos stay with me/ I give them seeds and they stop me from feeling like an uncovered bone: wanting to be splinted, carried somewhere safe
winter is real, at least here, and it takes all but the strongest; if I didn’t have this door to shut, I wouldn’t last a night; so I shut the door and swell inside the house like a blown vein-bleeding into the tissue around it, I make myself a bruise in every room
If God is real, their humour is as deadpan as it gets; putting all of us in a place like this
If God is real, they are the grey jay waiting for the little bird to leave the nest so they can swallow her babies, or crack her eggs and eat them before they exist at all
winter is real, I know because today my precious one brought me two frozen caterpillars, we put them in a container with leaves and sticks, set them on the counter and they started moving within 10 minutes
winter is real, I know because once I saw a moose and the front of its legs were raw and bleeding, my male best friend told me It's from walking through the hard snow — if that doesn't break you then you're stronger than I am, maybe you came from the cold-cold womb of the god we're not even sure is really here.
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I really miss winter❄