Cold Was the Ground
By Alicia Sometimes
Published 1 January 2021
dark was the night
Blind Willie Johnson huffs in my ears
weeping into God. How easy to loop
the past into a soundtrack, light digestion
& here's Willie, scratching life into the air
carving out sight & sense in the squall
So many spills, paths of only one take
So simple, the hatching of intrigue &
sloppy way we invent moments to be sad
I walk at the trees as if I have knowledge
secrets of their past, I don't, but confidence
is a clever accessory. This winter walk
these minuets stall the loud, awaken the soft
my ears, warm with the blues
my eyes with the slow mountain
& the snow, suspended in a mid-fall spill
erasing out everything that came before