Winter II

She has been teaching
Herself to ignore
Her numb finger
And the number
Tip of the
Predominant Nose
That decides what
Stays in life

More importantly,
What Goes.

Sans these,
Baby knew
She could love Winter.
Or, Winter too
She would

Shoo.

Yes, baby shooo-es.

Migraines. Real bad ones.
Made of her
Choicest nightmares
Throbbed her temples.
Puke.
Baby wanted to puke.
Or perhaps,
Baby wanted babies

I suppose.

It was there
In her
Throat.
What babies come out
Of Baby's throat?


Baby has seen babies
Born on TV, lovers met,
Cold fingertips, warm nose
A round baby appeared
Baby saw
Baby choked.

What throbs her temples
Makes poor baby bloat?

Ah, this lovely lovely Sun
Perfect for killing lovers
Real old ones
That could be buried
Under dry leaves
Of lovelier Gulmohar trees.

This Winter,
She will kill those
On her
Fingertips,
Kiss the Sun,
Forgive the snow
Kick the wind
Piercing her nose.
She shrieks! She chokes!
A baby cries

A baby woke!