by Amanda Rabaduex
it’s the last day
of November
the sun is a commodity
in frozen fields, Black Angus
calves nurse from their mothers
warmth keeps everything going
my childhood was Grandma saying
wear a coat so you don’t catch cold
pretend angels – Grandma’s hands
on the December day
her heart stopped
I ran bare-armed
into snowflakes
sky falling
I caught the cold
radiant shape of lament
how softly it floats
how quickly it lines backroads
Amazing Grace
around her coffin
outside the funeral
Christmas lights
I remember how once
she cried
as my fifth-grade choir sang
I’ll be home
I save elegies for winter
when mourning
doves are silent
o grace – find me, too
snow clinging to ground
I will drink,
forget the icy knife
waiting for skin
forget December
lets the darkness in
Amanda Rabaduex is a writer, educator, and Air Force veteran. Her poetry and creative non-fiction have appeared in several publications and received a nomination for the Pushcart Prize. She is pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Wilkes University, and she is the current poetry editor of River and South Review. Originally from Ohio, she now lives near the Smoky Mountains.
Emerge Literary Journal 