40 Days

Winter’s rain will not stop.
A low sky glooms its marrow,
heaves its stuffing like a Christmas goose.

Our crayon box crammed with dark,
then a shock of salmon,
yellow on its way to dying.

Pansies surrender their trifled delights,
turn limp purple faces our way,
beg to be let inside.

No longer a friend, wind
clatters the glass for entry,
paws like a seething grizzly

as birches fury limbs on roof:
demented drummer boys
thrashing fearsome tempos.

We worry shutters, sandbags,
aardvarks and zebras marching in pairs,
their weathered invitations.

Barring the latch,
we abandon our eggnog,
reach for anyone’s hand.


Allison Thorpe

About Allison Thorpe

Allison Thorpe is a writer from Lexington, KY. Her latest chapbook is Dorothy's Glasses (Finishing Line Press). A Pushcart nominee, she has recent work in Gingerbread House, Two Hawks Quarterly, Misfit Magazine, The Homestead Review, Greensilk Journal, and Yellow Chair Review.
Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.