some fissure in winter

     by Alexandra Cannon

i.

the moon and the drifting clouds

—cosmic flashlight and shadows—

hold the night: silent, intimate.

i feel i shouldn't see this, the way

they are looking at one another.

(i can't tell if i choose the best 

moments to look up, or if it's

always this beautiful.)

ii.

it was an important evening, but i 

couldn't say why.

the suits and the gowns, oh my god—

and the gold everywhere: such brutal

elegance. i don't recall the music, any

words whatever, instead i know the way the 

light reflected on the polished floor

in muted pools that followed all evening,

that move as one moves.

and the moment that meant the most 

was held, paused, 

waiting.

stop looking at the floor.

(iii.

spring loves breathing at the windows,

sneaking into the room from some fissure

in winter, just when it would ache the most

to thaw.)

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Alexandra Cannon is an undergraduate student at Albertus Magnus College in New Haven, CT, where she is pursuing a degree in English with a Creative Writing Concentration. Her work has previously appeared in Albertus Magnus's literary magazine Breakwater and Speck Literary Journal.

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© 2011 Alexandra Cannon