Literature
hush, child
please move slowly,
she’s still wounded.
we’ve all been here before,
guarding against ghosts at the door
while the demons, they rail inside you
making you fear what’s before-
and it got the best of us, winter did.
all cold claws and biting wind
full of desolation and emptiness {& death}
the plants will revive come spring,
stretch themselves up towards the sky-
but will you?