it's cold
the mornings freeze our words to our lips as we pore
over homework, plastic boxes of brightly dyed sugar cereal
waiting for february. it's gray
we haven't gone out for recess in forever, summer sun
like a dream you can't quite remember, we're just
waiting for february. it's icy
purple and blue jackets slipping over the sidewalks, warnings
from our phones buzzing too late in our pockets, everyone
waiting for february. it's cold
and all we can do is wait for february.
I walk home wearing twin braids with bows
and a big smile because I'm wishing for snow.
Snow like a blanket, thick and white,
I want it to fall all through the night -
to cover the roads and the trees and the hills,
her name began with a d and her hair curled in gold ringlets like coins
and her laugh was infectious and her smile was too
and her eyes sparkled when they caught the light. she walked
i think cats read poetry. you can tell
in the way their tails swish and how they fold their legs
all the time, probably wondering how silvery the pinecones
will look tomorrow,
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