25 february 2022

  eleven degrees
  and snowing furiously
  the world is monochrome and hushed
  yet through the center
  there are guns and tears
  and red ruptures through winter airs
  there are last sighs
  and new strains of death
  and melting ice under bereft bears
  i try to hold it all
  but it slides through preoccupied fingers
  tea takes precedence
  in this arduous daily catastrophe
  my hope is falling through the snow
  to be plowed into the margins
  and i wonder
  as the weary world turns and turns
  will you find comfort 
  in snow
  in hush
  in tea
  what solace will be left you, my children…

©Elizabeth Anker 2022