Home

Silent Season

By Krista Clement

this day in bleak midwinter.
gray sky wraps earth with
angel sleeves and snow
drops heavily onto soot singed drifts.

we are tired, you and I.

a train mourns distance.
twilight seeps into tree bones—
obscures the falling sky.
the kitchen waits unswept and cold.

you hold me close.
we burrow into blankets like
two groundhogs revisiting slumber.
nestling next to me, you sigh.

tomorrow we can be reborn.

but today soundless winter
yawns before us.
content, we let the shadows shift
and lie patiently entwined.

Next:
Previous:

About Krista Clement

Krista Clement worries that her life mirrors her favorite childhood novel, Little Women. While pursuing an English literature degree she met and fell in love with a German man who now makes his career as a professor at BYU. And, like Jo, she has literary aspirations. Her short fiction has appeared in several online literary journals and she has also done nonfiction and creative freelance writing assignments. After moving back and forth between Germany and the United States the past eight years, she is finally ready to feather a permanent nest and spend most of her time homeschooling her five boisterous children in Santaquin, Utah.

Leave a Comment