Posted in Misc, Poetry

december ii

Red-rimmed and paper-thin,
We all shiver in the cold bite.
It’s the last, it’s the end,
and I think to myself,
What have I done?
For twelve long years, what have I done?
I look at cool white plaster, at
chalk powder fine as first snow,
at watery smiles,
and I know that I have donesomethingright.