Snowflakes trickle down windowpane. She twists bulbs tightly, lights up the tree in green, red, and blue, breaks apart earth and sky blanketed in white. She sips hot apple cider from a mug, steps onto the porch, watches him shovel the walkway. Ice cold ball of cotton hurls for her head, disintegrates into powdered water droplets when met with mug. Return fire not as friendly, metal shovel shatters porcelain— scalding cider splashes skin.
Two inches of the powdery stuff packed underneath a tenth of an inch of sleet and freezing rain was just enough to build my snow baby.
Her lips were red as pomegranate juice, and I used holly berries for her eyes, the pointed tip of a carrot for her nose, and rosemary stems for her arms. I slid the beaded bracelet I’d won in a gift basket from a long-forgotten charity event over her head to make a necklace.
She wasn’t the one we’d lost, but she was perfect, and she was mine. I brought her home with all the love I could manifest from my half-empty heart and made our house her home.
I blow a kiss in your direction.
You don't see me—
you've closed your eyes,
lifted your face to the open sky—
You welcome snow flurries to make
soft-wet landings upon your blushing cheeks.
I'm jealous they've kissed you first.
She built a snowman in the meadow, dressed him, while shivering, in a wool scarf and knitted sweater. He offered his pipe between twig fingers to heat her numbing limbs. She kissed his coal lips, lay naked in his hypothermic embrace under the pelting ice.
Sleet pelts my head— I left my hat and scarf at home— my hair is stiff in the frozen air. I trudge through the ice— my feet numb in my boots. I’m shivering for the warmth of my bed and snuggie. I enter my 2-bedroom apartment— the air has been turned down to 56. Thermostat Nazi strikes again.