Lone Star Stories

                                                                Speculative Fiction and Poetry              

              

 
 
 
   

In Late December

by Beth Bernobich


I dream
of razor blades,
their sharp thin edges
glinting in the Christmas lights.

A slit-eyed troll
leans against my heart. It
chitters ceaselessly of bones
and incisions slow to heal.

My chest aches from a breath held tight.

The darkness leaks
away to spring,
to warmth and
summer's exhalation.

And in that dazzlement
of sun and stars,
I see a waterfall
of bright specks dancing.

Just as the faerie might.

Distracted,
I forget
to close my eyes
and ears.

I see
the spinning leaves
of rust-red autumn days.
I hear
them rattle whisper glide
a sound like that of dragon wings.

Breathe deep, the dragons tell me.

The troll,
a winter's child,
a thing born
of protracted night
and gloom-filled skies,
creeps from its hiding place.

I pause.
I hug a quilt around my shoulders.

Far away,
half-hidden by a spider web of days,
I glimpse
a starlit summer night;
I see the dragons fly.

I breathe.
I live.

 
 

About the Author:

Beth Bernobich is a writer who likes to reinvent herself, often in several directions at once. Her stories have appeared in a number of places, including Strange Horizons, Polyphony, and the Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica; she also has a story forthcoming in Fictitious Force. This is her first published poem.

 

Poem 2005 Beth Bernobich.  All other content 2003-2005 Lone Star Stories.

   

   

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