R. Erica Doyle

winter

i stand quoting shadows
of all the things i could have done
life dismissed beneath this red leaf’s
brilliant death
winter breath and stone harmonies
send out subtle radars to
come and predict the weather, like
we tore the tissue and read it
under the lens
too late to save our mother
if only we had that one machine
that turns everything back
and if only we had the map
my bleeding palm describes
and if only i could smell
disease like a rat
(but, instead,
how the house smells
like her dresses
and her sighs
how my body
is the map
of her body
the curve of our foot
just so)
this season i stand with palms splayed
forcing encroaching walls apart
the wizard behind a curtain
of regret


R. Erica Doyle