{"sf1_id":1710572,"sf2_id":"zeRgREJm","title":"Pale She","author":"makyo","words":356,"posted_at":"2021-04-25T06:03:00.000Z","tags":["Poetry","haiku"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1710572-pale-she","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/zeRgREJm","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/c4/3a/c43a3986-c10b-4f84-9aa4-6aef94449ed5","description":"#14 of Poetry\n\nA string of 25 haiku, originally published on SpillWords.","content":"Her eye turns inward,  \nvision dims and movement stills  \nas winter claims her  \n  \nThoughts like leaves fall slow,  \nhesitate, drift, rustle, sigh.  \nFrost-rimed remnants rot.  \n  \nSome paler she asks:  \ndo you see the sky through me?  \nDo I frame its mien?  \n  \nThat pale she lacks words.  \nShe does not speak, cannot speak  \nwithout the wind's hum.  \n  \nStill she asks, all breath,  \nam I invisible yet?  \nDoes snow tend steel skies?  \n  \nAnd when her breath fails,  \ndark branches write on the clouds:  \nSummer is a dream.  \n  \nPaler still, she cracks.  \nDreams, also, of ax and fire,  \nfalse springs to thaw hands.  \n  \nSilent now, demands:  \nthere must be an end, there must be.  \nSpring, silence, or fire.  \n  \nNo one answers her.  \nShe stands stark against flat skies,  \nice claims bark, claims wood.  \n  \nDarkness comes heavy.  \nSleep for now, sleep forever,  \nmidwinter cares not.  \n  \nNeither, now, does she.  \nHow could pale wood think of whens?  \nOf thaws and green things?  \n  \nThe sun tells her lies:  \nMelting snow will feed your roots,  \nSeasons imply change.  \n  \nShe does not listen.  \nPale she does not believe him:  \nBrother sun's too quick.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Brother sun tolls days,  \nand pale she has no more need  \nfor hours with seasons.  \n  \nBrother sun's movements  \nare breaths to her: days blink slow  \nwhen spring is a dream.  \n  \nSister moon speaks now:  \nfollow me, set time by me ---  \nmy months are guideposts.  \n  \nPale she sleeps, sleeps still.  \nWaking her may have listened.  \nEndless winter calms.  \n  \nShe invites cold in.  \nWater, crystallized, freezes;  \ncells lyse, die in droves.  \n  \nIf spring never comes,  \npale she supposes, that's fine.  \nWinter is for dreams.  \n  \nShe'll dream, or she won't.  \nShe'll carry on or she won't.  \nCold has claimed heartwood.  \n  \nNo one perceives her.  \nShe becomes terrain's wild hair,  \na forgiven sin.  \n  \nWould she wake for saws?  \nFor axes with keen-edged blades?  \nWould she even care?  \n  \nAnd still the sun sets.  \nAnd still the moon waxes, wanes.  \nAnd still seasons change.  \n  \nShould pale she not wake,  \nvenerate her mute demise.  \nCut her down, cord her.  \n  \nA new life in fire,  \nfor pale she gives heat in death.  \nLet this be her spring.  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Poetry","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1347824-beneath-her-coat-was-a-whole-identity.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1713734-the-eighteenth-whisker-on-the-left-is-brown.json"}}