Written by Gabriella Troy
Art by Charlotte May

Cinnamon apple spice
in the dead of winter,
a homely honeyed curtain
to sugarcoat the frosted windows
that peer out at the gloom
of a world without the sun.

A mug of mulled cider
is the antidote to the
frigid existence of passersby
who scurry to shut themselves
indoors and who bear faces
gray like ashen snow
contaminated by car exhaust.

This piping drink is all
that keeps the organs running,
flushing the despondency that
freezes around the heart
and throttles life from the
machinations of the mind.

Cinnamon apple spice
is the oxygen of hope
that the afterlife is
a brighter home
far, far away from
the murky horizon
of this world left to rot
on branches of indolence.