Fall/Winter 2020 Issue

Vaishnavi Murthy

losing the battle

Emily Stimac


the trees become bare
when the fog of winter sinks in
stripped of their burden
drained of all color

today you look paler
yesterday you did not smile back

they sit and claw at the lake
where the silence resonates
and fragmented echoes
linger and then eventually

i see your sharpened edges
and we’re all in pieces now, aren’t we?

the world was saturated
the lake was where i skipped rocks
only the smooth ones
worn over in the glistening waters
they would bounce more than once

nowadays they just hit the bottom

i once wrote that after the cold
lifts its glacial lids
the moraine of the forest reaches
up to the bluebird skies
in hope of warmth once more

we reached
we froze

and the trees never had hope
only hatred as they shook their fists
and screamed at the bluebird skies