If we’re not saying how cold it is
we’re talking about how the ferns
hung by the front stoop
have exhausted their conversation with the sun
and hang their chins to their chest in sleep.
In November we’ll bring them in
to hang side by side
where they will wonder until April
if they had only imagined the sunrise
Ontario, 6PM
About Me
A poet living in Ontario. Mostly works of memoir and poetry that focus on motherhood, womanhood, and relationship to self.
The Offline Mind 
Leave a comment