Concomitantly, Alive and Dead:

Dear Nevermore,

I want to be her Winter. A soft shiver settling upon exposed skin. Leaking through. A cold nuzzle. Lightly tapping. Percolating through and in between her bones. Sifting sinews. Season wrapping around gently after falling. Forever and ever. Like a ghost, let Winter’s chill cling. Let it be me. The haunting…The phantom…A shard of ice, never melting, only arriving, stabbing, cutting, ever-more, the horizon cracks. Gray skies cough up my arrival. Naked trees sustaining nothing but the wind. Singing scraping notes. Overnight, along with the shadows. Darkness is their own shade. Overnight, we stick like a thin layer of frost in early-December. Her brain is light-blue, the snowflakes are see-through, never reflecting, only refracting, absorbing. Breaking then shifting when the sun shines. Melting then melting again. O’Winter slides, vertical, to the ground. Winter soaks her socks and pools in her boots. She soars. Drip, drop. Winter fades when she soars. All stays, the ice gets swallowed, leaving. Still carrying it. A silent phasing away. Sometimes it whispers. Into a new year, flowers rise, after emptiness. The roar of spring. Memoirs of my dreams. Dive into the back of my mind, find me smiling, snowy white—teeth rattling, waiting for the turn of time and time again. Can I be harrowingly ghastly and still bloom with outlandish vibrance?

With Blood,

EMR.

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“The vaudeville star Fritzi Ridgeway showing what it takes to melt a snowman.”

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(Special thanks to Aurelian Ashmore for the support and inspiration. Expect us like you expect Jesus.)