White Over Splinters

The fence leans —

wood swollen, paint cracking like tired skin.

Snow settles, thick and cold,

spreading slow like forgetfulness

across the worst parts,

the chipped edges and splinters.

Quiet falls heavier than the storm's howl,

hiding the ragged scars

that daylight never forgives.

Each flake a weight, folding over rough wood,

a soft apology no one asked for,

a frostbitten patchwork

smoothing over decay.

I watch the snow build its white silence

on crooked planks,

while the paint flakes drop unseen

like loose skin.

Outside, a crow caws —

broken and sharp,

cutting through the hush

that blankets everything.

The ugly waits, covered,

still there,

waiting for thaw.