Prose Header

Sounds of Winter

by Ljubo Popovich

Brittle swarms of moth-like snow
Glow in a warm mitten.

Slushy streets slowly thaw
And smitten faces flake with shadow.

Somewhere, the scream of a deep-throated train
Ploughs through the latte-rich night.

Dim reflections percolate into windows
And trolley tires irritate frosted ears.

Ladies breathe like trembling icicles.
Their footsteps blend
With the silent rhythm of snowfall.

They quietly gaze with espresso-dark eyes
At a subway tunnel swallowing passersby.

Footsteps filter down dirty alleyways.
The foggy streetlamps are soft candles.

A waitress, tiered with plates, pauses
To listen as vagrant musicians warm up.

Evening settles over the ashy horizon.
Gritty stars glitter fervently.

A tawny maiden haunts these boroughs.
Her gown is laden with wraithy pearls.

One of these years, her glassy eyes will fill with tears.
Immemorial she comes and goes,
Turning over the Earth like an intricate snow globe.

Copyright © 2018 by Ljubo Popovich

Home Page