The Cold of ’92


The Cold of ’92

Winter hits with a bitter hand

on this plateau.

Slate sky, ominous with

snowflakes, thick and wet

or icy chips.

Dangerous underfoot.

It snows again here.

While down South, fatigues

climb white washed hell to

save sheep.

Tiny flakes fall on and on.

We sit around a fire.

Laugh and eat ugly pink cake

and sip bubbles.

It’s late and outside

dark canvas lets stars

pinprick light through.

Trees dusted with icing sugar

A powder snow

covered garden

This harsh place where

men are trained to kill

Has a beauty even

to my grief reddened


2 Replies to “The Cold of ’92”

  1. “…ugly pink cake” is where this got personal for me – that is, that detail made me really see the narrator. It’s such a contrast to the broader description of the scene.

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