SOMETIMES THE BLOOD GOES COLD
By Stephanie Bryant Anderson
My sleeping bones live, like snow on snow,
I hear them speak: another day, another night.
(in the hours that you’re gone)
the blood goes cold.
(Today’s poem originally appeared in Thrush Poetry Journal and appears here today with permission from the poet.)
Stephanie Bryant Anderson lives in Clarksville, TN, and is pursuing a Bachelor degree in English and Creative Writing with an emphasis in Poetry. She is currently shopping for an MFA Program in Creative Writing. Her work has been published widely in both print and online journals; she has recently been nominated for Best of the Net, twice for the Pushcart Prize and storySouth Million Writers Award. Stephanie is one of the founding and managing editors at Up the Staircase Quarterly. A few of her publications include The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Connotation Press, and THRUSH Poetry Journal. She is currently working on her first full-length poetry manuscript.
Editor’s Note: Today’s poem brings us love and longing through the haunted lens of the otherworldly. There is something of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale in Bryant Anderson’s lyric, in “sleeping bones” that “live, like snow on snow.”