Samantha Cramer

Winter empties graves,
sanity held together with frayed
bootlaces, and the fossil grip
of gnarled bones.

Tension rises like yeast dough beside
a lit hearth.

Take care, you girls who wander

the ribbon of your smile
is a bullfighter’s cape to a past
that lingers.

The North wind has seen it before

Blizzard cries out like an anxious
memory, howling and raw, and
river ice sheets moan.

Close the window, darling,
come away.

Ghosts need no company.

Samantha Cramer

Samantha has been in love with poetry since she stole her mother's old college textbook of English poetry from the bookshelf at age 10. Poetry speaks to her of the archaeology of the psyche, the strata of loneliness and desire inside all of us, and the equally strong ache to be fully seen.

Issue 23
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