Medium: screenprint and drawing on paperWinter Cluster
We are sectioned into
a box painted white
to cool in summer months,
but wrapped black
now for heat.
Our bodies have
become slow, clutched into
an anemone of whispers.
We are fruitless
and protect the one who
carries spring brood.
Puzzling our mouths with
peculiar milk, we spread as the
hours warm...this day is slicked still
by an icy caul, our box means survival
a mass of tongues dreaming of spring
-insular and sweet.
-Nicole K. Pollitt
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