My Window

The naked snow slouched
serenely through the crystal-cold canvas
of my well-weathered window.

The Artist's sky today was
painted battleship gray
though brightly lit without shadowing. 

Frozen in temperature.
Frozen in time
Frozen in place

Handprints on the glass
forensic evidence of years spent
viewing the outside from within
trying to revisit my old world through
scratched panes of bullet-proof glass.

Editor’s note: This poem originally appeared in Evening Street Press.

---

Matthew Feeney has had over 300 works published since 2017, all done without using the internet due to his serving an indeterminate sentence in Minnesota. Notable publication credits include Rattle, the Analog Sea Review, Pinyon Review, Evening Street Review, and the anthology Upon Waking: 58 Voices Speak out from the Shadows. Matthew has received several awards, including PEN America, and was nominated for a 2021 Pushcart Prize by Gival Press. An OBJECT America project featuring one of Matthew’s poems was exhibited in Paris, Berlin, and Switzerland.