Cold Was the Ground
By Alicia Sometimes
Published 12 February 2021
dark was the night
Blind Willie Johnson huffs in my ears
weeping into God. How easy to loop
the past into a soundtrack, light digestion
& here's Willie, scratching life into the air
carving out sight & sense in the squall
So many spills, paths of only one take
So simple, the hatching of intrigue &
sloppy way we invent moments to be sad
I walk at the trees as if I have knowledge
secrets of their past, I don't, but confidence
is a clever accessory. This winter walk
these minuets stall the loud, awaken the soft
my ears, warm with the blues
my eyes with the slow mountain
& the snow, suspended in a mid-fall spill
erasing out everything that came before