Poetry/Creative non-fiction/fiction

Warmth December 12, 2012

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 7:14 am
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Winter mornings are silent- noises smothered liked packed snow.

I stay wrapped up in bed long after I wake.

I dream of retraced kisses from the nook of your ear down to your collarbone.


My pulsing heart a mountain stream, a soft hum of water spilling over moss topped rocks.

Our breath puffs like glowing smoke under a full moon. You unbutton your coat

and pull my hands inside. I feel your skin breathe beneath a tight t-shirt.


You kiss my mouth, sucking my bottom lip until you’re sitting on the

hood of my car. The metal is like ice. A thin layer of frost hugs the back window.

I imagine never getting up. Spending the entire day under five blankets.


Never waking to the reality of what went cold between us. Of the weight that comes

from not knowing how to kill a dead thing.


The pounds it stacks onto our tight smiles.


My right hand curled rigid atop my pillow, below my cheek. You stay asleep like stone.

Your naked body only heat beside my own.


Your arms tie around me, eyes still shut. I drop my head to your chest and strain to

read heartbeats stuck snug under the cotton of my limp quilt.




Melting January 8, 2012

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 6:23 am
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I zip up my green coat that my step-mom

bought me for Christmas last year and brave

the winter air. Somewhere along my path the

zipper’s teeth unhook. My belly bare open I cringe.


I rip.  The zipper won’t loosen. Josh has to force it apart

in the library parking lot. I am his kid. Standing arms limp,

face distraught. Just use the snaps for now, he says. We walk


to the basement so he can show me Pott’s archives. I feel lose.

Apart from it all. I stare out the glass wall at the mountains.

They piece together like a pop-up book. Each curve a piece

of the other. At the bottom they melt into the ground.

Their bodies one eternal round.