The Heart of Winter- Christine Ray

My heart

a block of sculptured ice

buried deep behind

steel ribs

hung with icicles

offering dagger sharp protection

An arctic palace

of empty chambers

where glacial winds

flash freeze unwanted feelings

blow them deep into dungeons

blood is crystallized

in frozen nitrogen veins

heartbeat slowed

like a wound down pocket watch

My dreams haunted nightly

by my dead

again and again

they appear

bright cheeked


unaware. . .

or perhaps unconcerned. . .

by their fates

They murmur

that I am the ghost here

rendered translucent



from years of suppressed grief

They whisper in my ear

to remove the splinter

from my eye

that blinds me

to myself

these truths

it is time

they say

to examine the shape

the sharpness

of my grief. . .

that spring thaw

is long, long overdue

Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless and is a writer and managing editor for Sudden Denouement, Whisper and the Roar, Blood Into Ink and the Go Dog Go Cafe.  She is an aspiring badass.

Winter’s Chill – Christine Ray

Winter is starting

To settle into my bones

Making itself at home

The cold steals silent,

Stealthy under doorways and seeps

Through the small cracks in my armor

Looking for firm purchase

Conspiring to steal my warmth

Chilling my nose, my toes

My fingertips


The flat gray December skies

Speak of future snow

Will it be a flurry

Or a blizzard, I wonder?

The days grow short

The nights grow long

And as sleep is often as evasive

As a child playing hide and seek with me

In a many roomed Victorian house

Full of small hidey-holes

This darkness can feel endless



I worry that winter’s frost

Is starting to form

Over the delicate tissue

Of my heart

Making my blood slow and sluggish

That it will crystalize on my soul

Encasing me, trapping me

Under a clear sheet of ice

Thick, hard, muffling my voice


I fight to resist this

Encroaching winter

This mournful twilight

But I am isolated

In this icy landscape

Full of skeletal trees

Frozen puddles surrounded

By hard mud that crunches

Under my frozen feet

I feel transparent

Thin somehow

Have I become a ghost?

I seek a lantern in the darkness

Or a bright red cardinal

To break up this

Bleak, white tundra