I want January to love me hard
so I can leave her at the altar, jilted,
hysterical, mascara flowing
down her stony face like a black river.
January would lead us to believe
she is barren, but it is us she leaves
deserted, it is us left marooned, searching
the wilderness, hunting for our lost years.
I want to watch January strip
away her brittle cloak of ice. I want
her to reveal the secret of her silence.
A solitary hawk cries out into the cold clear sky—
I know that sound. It's the same sound my soul
makes when I lie in bed alone at night.
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