Archers

what a strange month December is—

home to cherished holidays and

two days which began our sorrow.

cold, wet, white— 

about it, songs are written 

asking for its arrival; admiring its beauty. 

safety, innocence, perfection— 

your mother smiled at its presence 

while holding her newborn son.

cold, slick, clear—

from it, road disasters happen 

bringing brake lights; causing inconsolable tears.

danger, wickedness, imperfection—

could my mother know the despair and heartache

that would follow her newborn daughter?  

what a strange month December is—

from it came two archers 

destined never to hit their targets.

About the Author

Sierra Tufts-Sicard is a junior English major in the Creative Writing concentration with a minor in Professional Writing. She has been telling stories since she was young which has blossomed into a love for writing stories and the occasional poem. She has been published four times in Quiddity, and hopes to continue publishing works in the future along with her current novel-in-progress.