The Chemical Composition of Our Nature – A Poem

Change the chemical composition of our
where the last of this season’s snow withers still
in the recesses and shadowed places
the sun light
cannot reach.

Holding my palm
to a prophet (a designer of fate)
I find comfort in the remedies she offers.
It’s a Tuesday which dematerializes before us
in such a flurry of philosophizing that our lips turn blue
and crack.

Acceptance has been passed down to us
she says
so let us be gloomy and in love and utterly

Strangers at the brook suspecting firearms are being sold
out of the city’s service equipment shed off Mill Street
let us pass without

The market is abandoned.

The air blushes pink with the flavor of cinnamon as
I seek an escape from this wearisome close
of winter’s retreat with a prophet who denies her actions on the solstice.
But the regrets we share from yesterday’s follies transform into a clarity
of vision
that designs within us
a passing reprieve.

At the base of the stairs she gives me
a chestnut
and closes my hand about it.
I grow fearful of the eyes behind the white windows.
The sound of the cars passing
on the street
make me want to answer her unasked question but find I
don’t have any words.

There is something believable about you
she tells me
but now I can only wait for you
to wake up.


2 thoughts on “The Chemical Composition of Our Nature – A Poem

  1. The snow storm blew so violently last night that there was a tiny pile of snow inside my car. I can only imagine the tiny crack in the window was enough for it to wither there.

    • The last snow here was weeks ago. But the snow and ice still remain in some places stubbornly refusing to yield even with days over 40 degrees and through the rain. An occurance that helped to insipre this poem. But, with all that said, snow in ones car is a dreadfull thing, and one I can sympathize with. Outside is cruel enough, but inside you do expect a sactaty from the elements you are forced to battle and scrape.

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