The Black Chemistry


One of those goddamn depth-of-winter days when the snow is sooty, the sky relentless gray, the trees dismal brown. You force yourself out for a run and make it as far as the cemetery but sure enough your foot aches, you step in a deep cold puddle, and you’re going to die someday.

This chaotic black chemistry that is you.

Then the freezing rain starts like someone mocking me.

I lower my gaze and—look at that—the bare trees reflect in the puddle and the raindrops dream up perfect round eddies like notes from a song.

And just this, this slight change of angle, shatters my gloom. I go a little faster and lift my face to the icy stings, and imagine that, I can still feel, I can still run, the sun won’t come out but I’m not dead yet.

Read this with Skating on a Winter Night, my just conceived series of winter poems.

By David Klein

David Klein

Published novelist, creative writer, journalist, avid reader, discriminating screen watcher.


Subscribe to this Blog

Enter your email address to receive notifications of new posts by email.

Get in touch