September 12, 2009

sarah

boots crunching on the first frost. it was cold, but you lay down on the ground anyway, under those bare drippy-branch trees stripping down for the winter.

the wind rustles your white skirt, pressing it up against your ankles. you are the frost on the ground, the stinging flakes falling on your eyelashes. do you learn from a stranger?

6 comments:

Cassandra said...

This is beautiful.

Erin said...

I very much like this, especially the last sentence.

Beth Kephart said...

You are working in a new way, and I like it.

odessa said...

lovely, Maya.

Milli said...

lovely

Eric said...

kinda straddles the line between poetry and prose. nice!