Threads Of Winter By Mo Mahon

Water droplets tap against my windshield,  

The winter months are now settling in.  

The beach town, wrapped in jacket-covered cold,  

Wind howling, relentless, sharp against my skin.

Yet, I still see glimpses of spring—  

Butterflies fluttering by,  

Joined by crows,  

Soaring, steady, across the sky.

This time of year blurs my memory—  

A haze of streaks and shadows on the glass.  

The holidays loom near,  

Insistent, pressing on,  

Like a clock that won’t let time pass.

Gift-giving, baking—  

The tasks I should be doing,  

But instead, I crave nicotine-fueled air,  

Toxic breath, running wild, without a care.

I think back to my teenage years,  

Feeling frail, cold,  

So alone—

Filling the void by spilling out the unknown.

There were moments frozen in time,  

When adrenaline barged in,  

Tapping gasoline,

Not stopping 'til I’d spun out again.

One late night—  

Or rather, early morning—  

I risked my life,  

Running across the highway; it wasn’t smart.

The frenzy was my fuel.

I shouted, desperate to be caught  

Like a deer in headlights,  

Just to feel something, anything, to make it alright.

Once, I was so self-destructive,  

So reliant on others' perspective,  

Now, here I am again,  

But not as dangerous as then.

For I am now a grown woman,  

With a peaceful, loving life.  

A safe space wraps me,  

Quieting the strife,  

Softening the sharp edges of the knife.

 

Yet still, I recall  

The fear, the rush,  

The swollen throat, the shallow breath,  

How they crawl back, relentless,  

Insistent on what’s left.

In my solitary walks,  

In my bed without my phone,  

A feeling stirs,  

Bouncing in my bones,  

Reflections of neglect,  

A shadow I can’t outrun,  

Tied to me like the silver dime  

I wear it around my neck.

Reminded in my restless writing,  

Breathing with each movement,  

Lifting, gaining strength,  

When I’m my healthiest,  

Trying so hard not to overdo it  

And allow myself to also feel it.

As rain soaks my socks,  

As cold creeps into my hands,  

As my flushed cheeks go untouched,  

As I recognize every stray strand.

Observing the never-ending horizon line,  

Writing it all out to unwind—  

Which has guided me for over a decade,  

And I am only now able to truly understand.