Poetry: M. Stone

Winter View

We no longer discuss it
now that she’s twenty years gone
but she is the unfinished room
at the back of the house

kept shut up all year
except for winter when
we open the door to allow
a little warmth inside.

This morning while you sleep
I skirt around corners,
working the ache from my hip.
February sun—wan as a sick child

but I reach the back room
and am struck by brightness
spilling over me. With its row
of narrow windows grown filthy,

this place in our house
still lets in the most light.

_

M. Stone is a bookworm, birdwatcher, and stargazer who writes poetry and fiction while living in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in San Pedro River Review, Star 82 Review, UCity Review, and numerous other journals. Find her on Twitter @writermstone and at writermstone.wordpress.com.