Rosehips remain on the bushes,
someone sings about God aging.
In the cold winter, I craved ice cream
a mix of strawberry and vanilla.
I’ve weathered crises,
my brain’s convolutions feel heavy.
I can feel the flow of my blood.
An old man sits on a car, dying.
I’m afraid of cars,
afraid of collisions, of accidents.
I drop ice cubes into lemonade;
even in winter, I love cold drinks and food.
My grandmother knits socks for me.
I’m afraid she’s grown old,
afraid of losing her.
The sunset heralds the coming night
in winter, darkness falls quickly.