Telling: Streams & Logs


winter in here

It’s been winter all week.
The cold burning the tender edges back to chaff.
The hard closing the blinds.
Tongue tied, rope burned, snaggle tooth, hoarfrost.

Every day I put my brave face on. 
There is damp in the chin from the leak in my breath.
The coin-slot mouth catches my tongue.

I meant to tell you how the mirror withheld evidence
and the door was a hostile witness
and the shadow of my hand across the table
pled the fifth.

But it doesn’t matter.
It’s been winter in here all week.