by Sara Dobbie
Empty field
It’s too cold to walk about this place,
the outthere out there,
so, i peer out the picture
window, prying into the silence
and i spy the coalspectacled
shape made, given—left
It, of no home, still, belonging
i, bundled to brave it, be
come outthere as well
To see it more clearly—
beyond shape
The substance of it
As i approach i notice
the frown made of raisins, prunish
Why? What service could be such
that a snowman should be soured?
It makes no it has no
Though i sense a struggle, i surrender
the moment because the miasma
of breathing before me, about
we, belongs to both
bodies, freezing—or could
And this disturbs me
To know, not knowing
That unsmile unsettles me, more
so, the breathing which begs a question
Shine Ballard, the déclassédilettante, currently creates and resides on this plane(t).
Sara Dobbie is a writer and photographer from Southern Ontario, Canada. Her stories have appeared in various online journals, and her photography appears regularly in Versification Zine. Follow her on Twitter at @sbdobbie.