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Untitled winter poem
by Dorothea Grossman
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This winter feels colder than ever,
or maybe I'm just more sensitive
these days,
when the wind is
a fire engine
and the moon is sinister
and blue.
I’m all bundled up for it,
stamping my feet,
drinking rum,
counting the days
until the yellow flowers.

©2011, Dorothea Grossman

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Dorothea Grossman lives and writes in Los Angeles, California, and has a poetry CD with trombone improvisations by Michael Vlatkovich, Call and Response. Three of her poems appear in our other seasonal anthologies: “Spring” is in the spring collection, “Summer: Three Ways” is among the summer poems, and “In the Library” is part of our autumn collection. She also has a poem in our 9/11 collection: “Ruins.”
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Next page > “Land of Long Shadows” by Ruth Hill...
Winter Poems collection > Table of Contents

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