In Winter, I Try to Write / BEE LB
“How many times have I written us into snow?” BEE LB writes on winter and wanting.
BEE LB
i think the cold is punishing me / BEE LB
the wind whipping through the edges / of my windows and doors. my unmade bed / and its frozen sheets. the blue / of the lake at night. the burnt haloes / of light all around. it’s like someone painted the world / but no one did. ” BEE LB writes on the frigid days.
half an aubade for december / BEE LB
“the sun is for gracing the lake on the best of days, warming the trees that reach tallest, thinning the ice without ever breaking.” BEE LB writes on the winter sun.
Good Morning, the Sun in October / BEE LB
“i don’t know what changed / aside from everything, but the sorrow / that has been coiling in my chest like a snake / beneath a heat lamp has unfurled…” BEE LB writes on the sun in October, after Sanna Wani.
State Trunkline / BEE LB
“Each mile ticks slower & the sky is layered stair by stair & if the whole world is not about to collapse, it is certainly straining under some unseen weight.” BEE LB writes from the road.
September / BEE LB
“A strip of film clicking into place. the dial winding, lining the film for the next shot–” BEE LB writes on the change of seasons.