by A.A. Veitch
House of Snow
I meticulously sculpted my love
into a house of snow---
desire came &
role of arsonist
with heavenly lies, romance
on a quick tongue:
fast & flush
all the curves.
Love is red braille
made on the
Under History's Overpass
Dark rumbling clouds are lolling overhead
There’ve been darker ones in our past.
Not long ago, I sewed up all the holes in
while I was wearing them.
My eyes have watched the clouds play
roles of musical notes, the wind’s orchestra.
The future is bleeding in heavy streams
As I sit, the witness under history’s overpass.
I’ve never had my skin penetrated by the
unyielding, unspeaking tip
But within time’s encompassing infinity, seas
I’ve found my mind stung.
A. A. Veitch has had poems published in: freefall, Black Book Press, Lilliput Review, Shemom, bear creek haiku, Unfettered Verse (forthcoming), Nomad’s Choir & The Poet’s Art. She dabbles in art & opinion pieces. Ms. Veitch is a badly-practicing Christian, native Georgian happily without a Gone-with-the-Wind brogue; new pet parent to a tabby-mix cat & supporter of a bill preventing employers from discriminating against people with poor credit scores. She's shopping out two chapbooks: 'Poethead' & 'Seasons of Flesh.'