Wintertwigs Poem by Alison Rosalie

i said
how the trees
look so beautiful
in the coming of winter
don’t you think?
with their claws and claws and claws
frozen in floral-patterned frost
reaching all around themselves
in eerie still-motion
and
the snow that sticks to them
is sparkling
it
is softly pale;

subtle ghastliness
like the soul of your
milk skin
your hauntingly
delicate face –
white as a cadaver, skeleton-ghost

and just like stiff twigs and sticks
and branches you extend your arms
and you stand
too, too
still
(always twisting
in the oddest directions
always straining, rigid
in spider-vein silhouettes
against the sunset sky)
with your hands always open,
your arms always reaching

and
there,
you stay.

never quite clenching
anything

but ancient plastic bags,
blowing in the
pin-prick frostwind
of the
white wintry
onset.