Daughter Winter

This one is WAY old--I was still in high school at the time. Yikes.

Her fingertips lightly brush the thick wooden door that’s been

Shut closed and locked. She

Breathes the faintest whisper of soft mist, then turns,

Naked feet pressing into wet white. A

Small sniff takes in a deep cold, deep

Sadness, deep cold. In the air is

Weariness.

Heavy lids slowly lift, cold eyes see

Gray, white, black, water, lonely. An

Ice-flake falls slow, reluctant. Little hot tongue

Reaches, reaches, tastes

Nothing.

Author's Note

Tell me what you think, but bear in mind that I was like 16 or something when I did it. Feels like forever ago.

Reviews

[Champagne]

Very nice. It flows really well and has a lot of passion.

[Truman S. Booth]

I agree, very good imagery. I like the enjambments; they give the whole poem a very engaging, seamless flow. It's snowing feathery quarters as I write this review, so the poem especially touched me. A pleasantly melancholy flavor. Well done.

And for me, who is currently attending high school, I'm not particularly surprised you produced such a lovely piece at that age. Talent knows no age, but tends to increase with it.

[InkSlinger]

Nicely conveyed.. the imagery is great! I enjoyed it a lot.