by Hibah Shabkhez

With boots and greatcoat,
   I shiver
In the wind and rain
   Lashing us.
Armed and armoured, I
   Still concede.

 But the plume, afloat,
  Aquiver
With hurt pride and pain
   Starts to cuss
As it waits to die
   On the reed,

Rustling: all summer
   I called you
While you cooed over
   Fair flowers;
Then I watched you mourn
   Browning trees.
   
Now you come hither
   To slice through
Me, make me stover;
   Your showers
Scissor me with scorn
   Try to squeeze

Me lifeless; but I -
   I will fall 
For nothing less true
    Than your first   
Snow -

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About the Author:

Hibah Shabkhez is a writer and photographer from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in Harpur Palate, Stirring, Forevermore, Empyrean Literary Magazine, Good River Review, and a number of other literary magazines. Studying life, languages, and literature from a comparative perspective across linguistic and cultural boundaries holds a particular fascination for her.