She hung herself last winter.
On the coldest night.
After the death of the child.

And the last breath of sorrow
escaped
and danced around the cabin.

She could not bear the white sameness
of the evening
that matched so many before.

Her heart had frozen long ago.
And when the child cried its last
she took it out as offering
to the snow and wind
fearing to sacrifice more than just her life.

And so she hung
until his return
swinging like a clock pendulum.
He cut her down
and waited for the Spring to release the soil to bury her.