on the bright white occasion of a second coming; or, in anticipation of spring

by Courtney Brown

mouth like milk tea,                                                                     but I wasn’t dressed for the blizzard
jawbone sharp enough to cut down                        my body light as a raven’s feather, swept up
a thousand men,                                                         in the glittering dark of that frostbitten night,
breath so cold                                                                                           the wind wrapped around me
he could have had snowbanks                                                                  like a barbed-wire blanket,
for gums,                                                                                          piercing the tough flesh at my belly
icicle-straight canines,                                              and my throat, stained red with the thin juice
snowflake-soft tongue                                                                                           of pomegranate seeds

he was the wintertime                                                                    it felt like floating, or like molting,
and I, discontented                                                                                      like crawling out of the hole
as a snake left out in the frigid open                                                         I was meant to die in after
snow-blind and willing,                                                              three days’ rest and disillusionment
walked straight into the center                                    like coaxing the entire storm into the cave
of his blizzard-strong love                                                                so that it could die there instead 

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