Contributor: Cynthia Pitman

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Part of the sleet was comfortable,
a reliable foe.
Its slanted needles,
the spit of the sky,
jabbed our winter coats
with a sense of purpose.
Coming fast and determined,
the icy spikes failed to pierce
the thick wool coats
we wore as armor.
For that, we cheered,
reveling in victory
over our old foe’s attack,
knowing our snowsuits
and our water-proof boots
would keep us safe --
all but the face.
We tried to look down
but could only look up,
frozen in awe
at the sharpened water
sending down pain
so constant and sure,
it bloodied our eyes
wide open.



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I am a retired high school English teacher. I began writing again this past summer after a 30-year hiatus. My first book, The White Room, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books.