Black Ice

Bruised skies smoke as my lips turn cold.

I waited in the hospital but no one said your name.

I woke up and it didn’t go away.


Blind wings of winter beat against our garden door.

I tried to write a letter but the moment never came.

The empty houses rage and flare.


Glaze of bladed snowflakes makes the day run pale.

I watched our candled windows stumble numbly to the dark

But I woke up and I still know who you are.


Shannon Lise

Originally from Texas, Shannon Lise lived in Turkey for twelve years and is currently located in Qu├ębec City. She is a 2020 Pushcart Prize nominee and recent work has appeared in The Sunlight Press, Sandy River Review, Rising Phoenix Review, Foundling House, The Ekphrastic Review, Tiny Spoon and Ink in Thirds.

NOVUS Literary and Arts Journal
Lebanon, TN