by Sandra Fees

everything comes to an end

like an exhausted star

dangling from winter’s throat.

look at you now.
who would know

you—supergiant of joy and boldness—
are in your death throes.
don’t linger like a soured lover. scatter.

be quick about it.

 

 

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Sandra Fees has been published in SWWIM, Nimrod, and River Heron Review, and has work forthcoming in Border Crossing, Crab Creek Review, and Moon City Review. The author of The Temporary Vase of Hands, she lives in southeastern Pennsylvania.