I am December’s darker sister, unspangled,
halls decked only in hope, resolution, a fugue
of fog and chill and willpower oft broken by
the halfmark. I am deep in debt and the un
-veiled threat of days spooled out like empty
boxes waiting, wishes wanting. I am dead
of winter, splintered into icy mapless roads.
I am cotton threaded sky, the why of days
spent, new dawn pondering the what that lies
ahead. I am born with a party, put to bed
with a sigh. I am long. Longing. Built slow
of sober cobbled gray, but great with child.
A persona poem written for Poetic Asides.