It's Still Life

I.
An Invitation from the First Day of November

I am November, the crossover
into winter. The start of months

that I will drag on slow as clay.
Slow as a long curve. Slower

than ditchwater with scum
shivering on top.

Winter, slow as lamented loss.
Winter, when grief slows time.

Slow, slow as damp plaster’s chill,
or as vacant as a stare. And I will

pull you into the slowness
of sea grass, and the coldness

of a slow dying star. Come into
winter, and we’ll crossover. Slow.

II.
What words need saying to a needle
that your foot finds in a haystack.

It’s NaPoWriMo again. Every November. Written for Miz Quickly Nov 1 “Slow” and NovPAD 1: Correspondence. Poem II. is an American Sentence. Shared with #APoemADay on Twitter   ©Misky 2021