Maybe I should pull it
out of my ass;
the unwritten memoir
the poems
the pain
the not soon-to-be forgotten winter that refuses to end.
My friend had said she would shoot herself in the face
except for the dog
her personal savior
who oddly lost weight in the winter
loved to dance in the snow
the white powder
glistening on its wet nose, shepherd’s rescued tail, shiny fur
swaying
me to strip
off my inner gloom
and take that first nose-dive into the past.
Into the still stark white
as I strained
squeezing out excrement, snot and saliva
as black letters bled-out across the page
combing through the drift
shaking off the bad
compressing it all into a snow angel
its fragile wings
broadcasting a somber joy
emerging playful
and puckish
plummeting headlong into the mound.
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C. S. De Dona
Author, Poet, Photographer, domestic violence survivor, and naturalized immigrant, Cornelia is currently an Arts and Letters member of The Southwest Florida Branch of The National League Of American Pen Women.
Cornelia lived in Kaneohe, Hawaii, for thirty-six years. Also, seven years in the Mid-Hudson Valley of New York. She now resides in North Fort Myers, Florida.
Her poems and photography are published in print, online, and in Rain Bird, a literary and art journal of the University of Hawaii's Windward Community College (2008-2013).
In 2013, Cornelia received Rain Bird's Kolokolea Poetry Prize for her poem, "Speaking French."
In 2015 her chapbook "Hawaiian Time," entered in the National League of American Pen Women's Vinnie Ream contest, was awarded third place in their inaugural multi-discipline category.
View all posts by C. S. De Dona
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