Three Dreams of Winter
written by: Meg Smith
@MegSmith_Writer
We sang a hymn
in a lost language.
A blanket from your sister
kept us, but only just.
You’re part of spring now,
as surely as grass entreaties.
Fire ruled my brain,
even in staring across a snowscape.
It was you who walked me there,
in a solstice of a white, sleeping sun.
Our last Christmas breakfast,
eggs in a blue bowl —
this your prepared,
before your lips ran to blue, and violet,
and your breath drew the true cold.
Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer, living in Lowell, Mass. Her poetry has appeared in The Cafe Review, Beliveau Review, Raven Cage, Poetry Bay, and many more. From 1995 to 2019, she served on the board of Lowell Celebrates Kerouac!, a festival honoring Lowell-born author, Jack Kerouac. She is the author of five poetry books. Her first short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor, is due out in fall 2020 from Emu Books.
Latest posts by Meg Smith (see all)
- A Blush of Night - November 9, 2022
- My Last Sighting of Merlina - October 14, 2021
- The Spring Circle - July 8, 2021
