District Winter

Written in a workshop last Thursday. The prompt was something vague about seasons and detail. 

This apartment has a view when the leaves hit the ground
It opens up like red and orange bursting like
Full-bellied angels before the winter hits the city

I see clearly now

My eyes wet and foggy with the resistance of yet another season
Life
It’s just brief jogs between floor board heating and
You
You’re all radiator heat
And fleece blankets

You spell out warmth like the braile behind my eyelids spells discomfort

You comfort my limbs
Make me whole again before spring rushes in without notice

See, I’ve lived in a place without seasons and I’m a girl afraid of change

Afraid of revolving four times around the sun four times yearly
Like I’m always looking for the next season

I want to stay here for a minute
Here in this bare trees and barely breathing
Here in this cold dancing the edge of snow globe
Here in this sheepskin boots and thick stockings

Here in this cold comfort of reds and oranges
Half lives coming to and end
Like summer always seems to too soon

But I’ve stopped missing her

Stopped wishing black ice was puddles to jump through
Stopped tugging on my scarf, praying for tank top
Stopped praying for time to give me back more sunlight

I’m here
Swirling in the surf of yet another cycle
But present at best

Basking in the gloom
And the view
From my apartment.

Letting cold rush over me like juice of a baptism
Never forgetting to let it
Leave me
Breathless.