Lit Issue 2018 | Poetry


I stand alone, collar lifted
Headphones cupping ears
against wind. My blush only
a stun from Midwestern wind
on my cheeks. My bare hands
stuffed deep in down jacket
pockets, thick soles braced
against concrete. This city
breaks icily under my skin
like a bitter lover who keeps
coming back to some honey
caught beneath this ribcage,
where another winter resides—
thick and predictable. Lipstick—
red sharper than a whetted blade,
a bright brutality like a weapon
raised before I lift my hood
and face a descent of degrees.