BROWSE Columns
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there was ice on the ground
when i kissed you
for the last time.
i wanted to
bury myself in it
& let myself
become the freeze
& the frostbite.
i wanted you
to mourn me.
instead, i walked home
wrapped in a jacket
i used to call yours,
trapped in a body
you used to call yours.
now the snow
is melting
& everywhere i look
is wet and dying.
now the sun
can return
& the coming back to life
can begin.
now, when asked
for a secret,
the only word i know
is your name.
now you are in
every poem i write.
now i start
the thawing,
the trying not to drown
in the melting.
E. A. McCarthey is a graduate student at the University of Central Oklahoma pursuing an MA in Creative Writing. She was a runner-up in UCO’s 2024 English Department Poetry Contest, and her work has previously been published in Beyond Queer Words. She has been in love with words since she learned to hold a crayon.
