'Winter in the City' by Blair Hill

Winter in the City 
By: Blair Hill 
 
I feel the cold in my bones; 
it makes them feel like knives 
bursting out from my rib cage. 
Luckily, I’ve got some extra padding. 
 
The bright red veins creep onto my eyes,  
like I've plowed through a pool of chlorine.  
The cold makes my eyes pulse in time 
with my faltering heart. 
 
I uselessly cover my mouth with my hand
as the smell of cigarette smoke embraces my nostrils.
I hear the residual pulse of the music from the indie bar next door;  
it sounds like helicopter blades, piercing through warm summer air.  
 
I see couples dissipate for the evening,  
returning to their matching sweater, sitcom homes. 
The insides of my throat ignite as I taste my bitter coffee;
it becomes a California forest fire during its yearly drought. 
 
A sensation, however, may be more than what I can express  
in a single sentence,  
on a single page,  
or in a single lifetime.  
 
I ponder the intricacies
of poetry and life.
 
Life is not as simple as a poem.  
Or is it not as complex?  
 
Will I ever be able to write another line of poetry  
or am I destined to listen to the sounds of other people living  
their lives for the depth of time? 
 
Edited by: Amanda Melfi