Kristi Nimmo

In Issue 6 on May 27, 2011 at 12:03 pm

Ransom Along River Forss

It is us, winter. You are moist
suddenly womanish

in turns.
No profit in wool.

we have a room.
Churned stones
windows boarded —

the wind
it is a long time coming.
It catches up in charnel shivers,

winding in love hunting you.
I would give for a hat or gloves,
ferns to stuff our coats–

the incidental prayer.

I know you are thinking
we have laid claim.

(There is a road to the inn.)
We undress there.
It does not end there.

It goes on–
despair, irritation,
common ailments.

Our prisoners in sleep
are forgotten;
or, were they us,

our sustenance . . .
We have given up
standing stones.

How we carried on.

Into the heathered hills,
salmon drinking an ale
before a final leap–
eyes clouded,

Swept to the sea.
I am stout with expectation
for next year, unbidden,
to find you.


Kristi Nimmo is an artist and a meditation instructor.  She lives in Virginia in a pleasant community where people regularly wave at one another.  She walks a lot and enjoys travels to distant places.  You can find her work in Psychic Meatloaf.


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