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At Night I Think of Winter,
​by Shannon K. Winston


Eczema burns me awake— 
               my skin flakes

like hot snow. 
               I scratch and scratch,

but the relief is temporary.
 

Last July, my partner

spilled boiling water down
               her legs and inner thighs. 

For hours, I coated her
               in Silvadene cream.

Blisters puckered like air
               bubbles under ice.


December—years ago,
               we skated on the lake

behind our house. 
               When my ankle twisted, 

the thermometer read
               five below. The day

turned red—the color
               of my chest when it cracks: 

tiny volcanoes
               burst beneath the surface. 


At night, I think of winter.
               After my partner's

accident—in the thick
               of summer—she slept 

downstairs on the couch.
               In the dark,

she turned over and over.
               Upstairs, I glimpsed the first

signs of snow— 






​NEXT



Shannon K. Winston's poems have appeared in RHINO, Crab Creek Review, The Citron Review, the Los Angeles Review, Zone 3, and elsewhere. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and several times for the Best of the Net. Her poetry collection, The Girl Who Talked to Paintings, was recently published by Glass Lyre Press. She lives in Princeton, New Jersey. Find her here: https://shannonkwinston.com/.
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