Meg Matich

cantilevered star

I placed rosemary in with the linens.
Simplicity of winter pear-bone,
of cold silk, of slow dictation.

Germany will still be there.

I slept in cedar
under lambskin blankets,
a doe cellared in astral ice.

Simonopetra will still be there.

The moment I knew that you weren’t coming,
I became stronger than you,
and much more tired.

Co-winner of the 2014 Winter Anthology Contest