Winter has embraced my land,
And, yes … me.
Souls that tuck not away
Shall never again see Spring …
So I’ve been told,
Time and time again.
As 4 below allows what breath it may.
It hurts bad,
Yet, I retain my warmth of body.
Have I no soul?
Tree limbs sag from the weight of frozen dust,
Neighbors bid one another a good day.
Have they no souls?
Resilience in the face of this tundra’s annual apocalypse –
Babies fuss with running noses,
The elderly grasp at their hearts,
The pizza man still delivers.
I weep – none shall make it to Spring.
I know, for I’ve been told.
Why grant a “Good morning”,
A friendly “Hello”,
An enquiry, “Wanna grab a coffee”?
Should we not rather befriend our demise?
Wave farewell as a soldier to his lover
Off to war?
Peer with vacant eyes into our now frozen dreams?
No … we can’t.
We will rather do this –
Wanna grab a coffee?
This is who we are.
We are 4 below.