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Iona Mandal

Who knew, that distant memory of my cold palm
Curling around my chilled frame
Could morph into cold blood – egged and ebbed
Ebbed and egged on by my cold heart

Who thought, my unthought reveries would make me cry
Cry cold tears
The tears you cry over cold, spilt milk
Tipped over without a thought

Who guessed, my soul
Would be under lock and key
Treated like cold coffee
Left on the kitchen counter

Who remembered, that once
My heart was not crystallised with ice
My soul wasn’t a blown out candle
The warmth in me was intact

Who knew?
Who thought?
Who guessed?
Who remembered?

I once had a flame in me?


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