Natasha Wright



Snow is capturing everything.

It clings in thick clumps

from trees, preventing the spring

of leaves and icing the branches

like cuffed wrists,

 while wearing a guise of pure white

innocence.  Soft and light

as down, but slippery as devil words. 

A few creeping flakes

give way to an overnight

infestation, silent

and glowing under the watchful eye

of streetlamps, freezing

the world into a hostage shell. 

Crunching alarms are set off

with each foot step, bringing down

a wintry attack on all to

wet the body,

bite the skin and slow

the veins.  Relentless.  The blankness

continues to spread, smothering,

erasing us.