by Sarah A. Etlinger

Twice now I have mistaken the winter light for sun.
Instead, thin shadows sigh

still as glass and silent
across the gentle clothesline of snow.
Sleeping branches stretch fingers into the cold
and pull my dingy memory out to wash and drape.

The white sheets shudder once,
then settle undisturbed, waiting for evening.

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Sarah A. Etlinger is an English professor who resides in Milwaukee, WI, with her family. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, she is also the author of 3 books: Never One for Promises (Kelsay Books, 2018); Little Human Things (Clare Songbirds, 2020), and The Weather Gods (forthcoming, Fernwood Press 2021). Her work has appeared in Pank!, Spry Literary, and many others. Interests include baking, cooking, and traveling. Find her at sarahetlinger.com.