SNOWHAUNT

               The snow comes
               and adds two feet to my digging.
               I remember once, as I was
               turning white and burrowing,
               how I fell through a rotten box,
               crashed into the open arms of bone.

               The skeleton held my head to its chest
               as if I were her child
               crying home from a fight.
               I had to break her arms to breathe,
               rose above her, brushed
               her cold white skin from my coat.

               Still, a ghost shivers within me,
               a memory watching
               the snow fatten her again.

               - Robert S. King

Robert S. King edits
Gaia

"Snowhaunt"
is from a series of poems
about a gravedigger.

All rights to this poem belong to its author.

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