shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Robin Sinclair


Before Winter

She had a flicker of history before the frost,
her last lover
leaving ink on her fingertips that on some snowy morning,
would be scrubbed on a metal table.
The sin, guilt, dreams
the lost stories caked black under her fingernails.
Before her winter, she scraped them with her teeth,
unafraid of the taste.

They could not wash away the ghosts, the lovers, the
children lost in fires,
dead friends and new beginnings –
surrendering angels in the last war for the heavens,
pages only recalled by a stranger to them,
the stained palms shaking, cold-boned by the dwindling fire.