A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
Silver white winters melt into spring,
but not because nature plays favorites—
that’s just the way it is. Dogs bite. Bees sting.
Raindrops on roses may look appealing,
but clutch them and you’ll bleed. Admit it.
Silver white winters melt into spring,
and all bareness explodes into blooming,
but another season passed just means saggier tits.
That’s just the way it is. Dogs bite. Bees sting,
and you leap allergic for the Epipen, heaving
as your airways close before the needle’s smooth hit,
silver. White winters melt into spring,
all the bright copper kettles brimming
with flowers you plan to water. You’ll forget—
that’s just the way it is. Dogs bite, bees sting,
and the whole fucking world keeps turning.
You couldn’t stop it with a million bits
of silver. White winters melt into spring.
That’s just the way it is. Dogs bite. Bees sting.
Donna Vorreyer lives and teaches in the Chicago area where she loves to write poems. Many of them have appeared in journals, including Rhino, Right Hand Pointing, Borderline, and Stirring. Her chapbooks include Womb/Seed/Fruit (Finishing Line Press) and Come Out, Virginia (Naked Mannekin Press). Visit her online.