Left to myself,
I sink,
and allow eyes to close.
To be
still,
stone,
ever vigilant.
Left to myself,
I will cease to exist
long before death
has the nerve to
visit my doorstep.
But I resist decay
by statuing
against chaos.
I close lips,
but keep eyes peeled.
I listen,
listen,
listen.
I am not
unchanging.
I rattle
back and
forth.
Left to myself,
I will fade
long before the sun
can bleach my bones.
So I protect the beat
of my heart and
feel each
breath fill
the empty cavern
of my being.
I preserve myself.
Hibernation
is not always
about rest;
it is about
survival.
The only way
to make it to
the next season
is to let this one pass.
I sink,
and allow eyes to close.
To be
still,
stone,
ever vigilant.
Left to myself,
I will cease to exist
long before death
has the nerve to
visit my doorstep.
But I resist decay
by statuing
against chaos.
I close lips,
but keep eyes peeled.
I listen,
listen,
listen.
I am not
unchanging.
I rattle
back and
forth.
Left to myself,
I will fade
long before the sun
can bleach my bones.
So I protect the beat
of my heart and
feel each
breath fill
the empty cavern
of my being.
I preserve myself.
Hibernation
is not always
about rest;
it is about
survival.
The only way
to make it to
the next season
is to let this one pass.
Katrina Kaye is a writer and educator seeking an audience for her ever-growing surplus of poetic meanderings. She hoards her previous published writings, links to publications, and additional information on her website (poetkatrinakaye.com). She is grateful to anyone who reads her work and in awe of those willing to share it.