Martha on the Roof

Ice slicks Martha’s roof.
From it she sees the rush, the whirl
Of winter’s way; dry, albescent, brisk.
She sees a crow who struggles to
The chimney top and squints against
The freezing wind, and families
In windows, living God-blessed lives:
Let me in,
Let me in,
Let me in.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!

 

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

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