In the bleak midwinter,
a frostbitten curator of love
dressed in Oslo wisteria
by the fjord,
holding onto the beautiful tone of echoes.
She'd been told
one goes there alone
to consult the winds.
Here they blow against her countenance,
against her little peaks,
and into pallid heart strings.
She remembers the porch swing,
angel songs,
and the warmth of his hands.
She remembers the surprise hotel,
and him watching her shower
for the first time.
She remembers eggs Benedict,
and how he held his fork.
She remembers
one very parochial night
in the prayerful mist,
the blue room in Vika.
She remembers ascending
where kites couldn't even,
into solid ether.
She remembers when
their infertile love
happened upon such bliss.
She remembers reaping
new harvest,
unburdening the smitten solstice,
and how he carried
his own execution papers
to a god of war
more than willing to oblige.
Here now, cold and widowed,
she mourns.
Here now, as he is lowered
into the ground,
the talkative wind brings sorrow.
It comes rolling down her cheeks.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 7:03 PM UTC
In the bleak midwinter,
a frostbitten curator of love
dressed in Oslo wisteria
by the fjord,
holding onto the beautiful tone of echoes.
She'd been told
one goes there alone
to consult the winds.
Here they blow against her countenance,
against her little peaks,
and into pallid heart strings.
She remembers the porch swing,
angel songs,
and the warmth of his hands.
She remembers the surprise hotel,
and him watching her shower
for the first time.
She remembers eggs Benedict,
and how he held his fork.
She remembers
one very parochial night
in the prayerful mist,
the blue room in Vika.
She remembers ascending
where kites couldn't even,
into solid ether.
She remembers when
their infertile love
happened upon such bliss.
She remembers reaping
new harvest,
unburdening the smitten solstice,
and how he carried
his own execution papers
to a god of war
more than willing to oblige.
Here now, cold and widowed,
she mourns.
Here now, as he is lowered
into the ground,
the talkative wind brings sorrow.
It comes rolling down her cheeks.
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