Dawn Schout


His flicker of words lodge a splinter

into silence. She looks up, tries

to draw it out, knitting needles smacking

against each other like marbles.


He’s an iceberg, etched

roughness, content with being

alone in the sea, revealing only a fraction

of who he is.


She once brushed

her sweater sleeve across a flame.

It danced to her shoulder and crackled

a warning before dying

near her ear.


During bitter cold

nights, when wind hisses outside

the window, she asks

him to sit near fire.

Wood snaps, throwing sparks

out of crooked

flames. The half finished

scarf in her lap can

muffle words from across the room.


She wants him

to wrap her in noise

that flows fast as water

set free from ice.

She leans forward. Wouldn’t notice

if her silver hair singed.

Words itch like wool.

He won’t let them unravel.



Dawn Schout is compiling her first poetry book about unrequited love. She won first place in the Lucidity Poetry Journal Contest, and her poetry has appeared in print and online journals, including Lucidity Poetry Journal and Glass: A Journal of Poetry. She also had a short story published in Evangel.