Snow
Snow.
The rifts and ledges.
Flakes just like to flake.
And eventually stay.
Snow covers cars a bit.
Then we uncover them.
We like to pretend that the snow is not melting down our spine, and destroying us.
Shaking.
Then we shake it off.
Gloved hands, taking them off.
If a stranger walked by, he wouldn’t help at all.
Snow covers my eyelashes a bit too.
Snow.
Towers over us in our sleep.
When it’s cold and our car won’t start this morning.
So it shuts us down.
Snow.
The snow plow did come through.
Eventually.
Then it came through the same street once more and it was crazy.
Then the snow stopped.
Gloved hands, throwing the gloves to the ground.
Breaking down because.
Snow.
Snow on a Sunday morning.
Doesn’t feel as bad, crazy, or unbearable.
I’m shaking, yet I’m on my cozy chair.
Snow towers in our sleep.
If it snows overnight?
I might have a problem.
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