It's Still Life

A Gogyohka Poem Untitled

last night’s snow
still holds the breath
of those who never came home.
my hand sinks in.
its silence begins to burn.

I will be here
waiting
when the crocus return,
and the snow drips like punctuation
from my wrist.

the crocus will rise
from a grave of ice,
but I no longer flinch
at the sting.
I write spring in scars.