Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Mistaking him for her brother,
he cuts off
thirty years.


An old woman,
too plump to be pretty,
my lipstick travels outside
the lines.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

A Christmas Poem

In the bleak midwinter
the Christ Child again
asks to enter into our hearts
and melt the ice that insists
on forming there
against our better judgment --
our attempts at thawing
only serving to set it afire
in a soul-consuming explosion--
our attempts at cooling
turning it once again
to ice.
Poems © Gemma W. Wilson