Block-hard feet in black boots
Mittened hands clutching my Otterbox as if
It could deliver me from this
As if I could tweet myself away.
Creeping down, soft,
Innocuous, looking like Christmas,
Like childhood, like a white blanket.
Like a landslide that looks like clouds in the distance.
Lawns, roads, cars,
Steps, hats, upward gazing churches.
Smothering hope of spring
Hope of light, gasps for help.
I close my eyes, imagine
A beach, the crystal blue Dominican sea,
The sharp explosion of a beach grape on my tongue,
Sand and sunburn and coconut.
Imagine Balinese breezes,
Loose cotton pants, big hats,
But my feet are clay, frozen to this place and
I hate snow.