It’s me
who clings to winter
when the river takes you south
Suicide by waiting season,
by alcohol,
at the top of a jack pine
Suicide by red sash
I plant dead ash woods
allow myself January
February
hypothermia
in one day
It’s me who clings
to winter, a paddle frozen
to the gunwales
It’s me who drowns
looking
for your canoe
First,
I plant the shore
me, who drowns in air
tends flowers for a living. She writes her best poetry while weeding someone else’s garden. Her poems can be found in Sweet: A Literary Confection, Gargoyle, and elsewhere. She lives in Southwest Michigan with her family and their rooster, Mr. Beautiful.
