Winter Is Not Death Poem by Francie Lynch

Winter is not death.
There are footprints,
Cardinals and chicadees,
Neighbours cursing,
Tires spinning
Like Catherine wheels.
Whiteness is not a shroud
Waiting to be unwrapped
At Easter.
Winter is not death.

I've been in the room
Where no one thought
To close his mouth;
Tongue rolled back
Exposing a cavern
With white stones
At the mouth.
Still eyes, cracks of eternity;
Stiff body like Pompeii,
Frozen like winter,
But not winter.
No slippers on blue feet,
No swallows flying
Out of the mouth.
No,
Winter is not death.