Konch Magazine - Persona by Natasha McLachlan

if it is cold enough
you can see the air
frosting beneath the
lamplight on college
it was me, the air
i was up there, crusting
of ice
but nobody saw him
her, the two children
playing skip in the
bush, the old man with
the cane
unanswered prayer, a
silence crusting me
the trickle of salt
tears behind the mac
screen, behind the smile
on bancroft when dom held
her smile and the small
brown bag
doubt crusting
no body
just air
kia needs a hundred
more words, she tells me this
in a text, she can’t see
the crystals of ice
sticking to my skin—
she sees
an answer
i don’t.
i see the cross
heaven’s finest soiling
the clay earth beneath
i hear nothing
no body
the air is still
beneath the lamplight
on college avenue
i turn back
i see heaven’s finest
locks matted
red, flesh stripped
off bone
i hear my
in blood.