Winter, Why? by Dante Novario



Or, Winter is not a season

Or, Nearly the entire village perished under the delicate frost
Chilly child, cheeks red as a rose
Breath turned into rime on the home
Beneath a night smothered in snow

Or, Old man winter my ass, you old monster

Or, It crept in as silent as a plague, as cruel as fire
You cannot hide what those snowy tracks left behind
Sugar plums dancing in your dreams, rotten and maggot-ridden
The ice does not care who is naughty or nice

Or, Seasonal Depression

Or, And summer gets forgotten on the onset of autumn
His cold fingers as white as bone, reaching through cotton
Blankets and wool socks and wooden walls and he finds you there
A warm body to invade, to turn to stone

Or, Hell is a frozen tundra 
and I’m afraid I’m going there




Dante Novario currently lives in Louisville, Kentucky where he studied writing at Bellarmine University and works as a behavior technician with special needs individuals. At times, he can be found selling little scrolls of his poetry throughout the city. His work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in Firewords Quarterly, Ghost City Review, Rogue Agent Journal, Dream Pop Journal, and Neologism Journal.




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