Nov 09
poem challenge: Afterlife


The first thing I notice
My toes are still frostbitten
Stained purples and blues, I can follow their watercolor footprints
The nails are gnarled and a shard of shrapnel dances across my ankle
My veins are engorged like the richest of kings
When I shiver they tremble like leaves in the wind
My ankles stay crooked, perpetually creaky
The arches of my feet rise like the swelling of seagulls
But the snow here is soft
It's warm and it's soft