This entry is part 9 of 23 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2013-14


Thin bony finger,
cold that stopped
the furnaces
when everyone
was sleeping—
who knows
what dress
it was wearing
what shadow
it cast
on the porch
before it left
on the heels
of the wind.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Why NotAlba →

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.