top of page

Me vs Winter

by Sarah Ebba Hansen

I decorate the dark with candles, go for walks
in fresh snow. Overhead, the moon glows
like a new tooth. Something in me is missing,
so I check my reflection in every window:
two eyes where eyes should be, a mask
where a mouth should be, hair blowing
in the wet, cold wind.

I am new here, a stranger among strangers,
no matter what bus I take home.
Days linger in the space between liberation
and loneliness. Flickering street lights
sound like fingernails tapping against glass,
like someone waiting to be let in.

In the park, an old man sits beneath a blanket
and plays his flute for birds and coins. Pigeons
blend into cobblestones: blue-gray and dusky pink.
Christmas lights are strung like pearls
through sleeping trees, and drivers shout
in a language I don’t understand. I am a spoon
clinking against an empty bowl.
I am the dream of a million women
who never got to be this alone.

Sarah Ebba Hansen is a writer from Virginia. She has received awards from the Academy of American Poets and Nimrod International Journal. Sarah received her MFA in poetry from Virginia Tech, and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Sun Magazine, 32 Poems, Brevity, Room Magazine, storySouth, and elsewhere.

bottom of page