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John Grey 

My January Defense

The light is raw.

Thoughts frozen.

Bones trembling.

Wind wails like a wraith.

A turbulent time for the walls,

the ceiling.


Twilight breaks up.

The sun patrols the other side. 

Eyes turn into search-lights.

Outdoors glistens

to the rhythm of an icicle.



slants away from December,

curves toward February.

The air feels starved,

hungry for meat.


The dire straits of Winter.

A fire that won’t start.

Chimney clogged with corpses.

Windows rattle.

Shingles clap to keep their hands warm.


The season knows what it is doing.

Saint Joan’s inquisitor

blows in from ancient France,

prepares my show trial.

tiffany jolowicz Monday on Michigan Island, Yesterday, the Day Before, Two Thousand Years
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