I shiver
I sit
as all of winter
condenses
on my window.
I keep feeling
like you're hogging the blanket.
But I heard you're somewhere sunny
dipping feathers in indigo ink
writing words
sending notes
that haven't reached me yet.
I sit
as all of winter
condenses
on my window.
I keep feeling
like you're hogging the blanket.
But I heard you're somewhere sunny
dipping feathers in indigo ink
writing words
sending notes
that haven't reached me yet.
This definitely reminds me of a Teasdale poem, especially considering how most of her poems sprang from her being alone and sick and looking out her window at the snow outside. There's such a sadness and loneliness presented here. Beautiful poem.
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