originally published in The Harvard Post

yellow post-it notes
once scribbled on, stuck to walls
now the cat eats them.

On the sky's far edge,
small blue mountains in white boots
sleep on, overlooked.

The maples, stick-thin,
haven't had a bath in days,
but don't need haircuts.

In the dark valley,
rows of orange, winking lights
make gloomy clouds blush.

a chilly embrace
Winter's marriage to the Earth
may you divorce soon

White steam from the mug
drifts upwards, fogging glasses,
warming freckled cheeks.

Kathunk! The tail slap
echoes across still water,
warning leafless trees.

Pine trees on the ridge,
backlit by orange sunsets,
pose for my camera.

© 2005 Holly Chandler