Like winter,

In January,

Christmas has come and gone.

There is no light until March,

But that is still a long way off.

I wait in the cold

Without a jacket to keep me warm.

Wicked winds tear at my raw wound

And whip at my eyes ‘til tears form.

The snow has buried me

Beneath it’s softness

And compacted so that I cannot move.

Here, I will remain

Until a shovel digs me from this grave

Or until spring eventually comes

And the snow melts away.

Here, I wait.