last january
was colder

instead of morning dew
you woke up with snowflakes in
your tear ducts and
the icicles trickling off your fingers
looked so pretty bleeding rain;

do you remember how your
bones shook like avalanche heartbeats
and how all those broken paintbrushes were
sharper than they looked
at five am with only fireplace
ashes for charcoal and old prose
to keep yourself warm

you have forgotten again -
ice is only cold when
it's crawling up your spine,
ice is only cold when
it's all you'll ever hold,
ice is only cold
when you do not want to breathe
the dawn again

the icicles did not hurt -
these frostbitten nerve endings make
breathing through the numbness almost
as natural as the selfish
sun and the reds and the yellows and the warmth
that will melt the terror in my lungs
into shaking palms
dripping red on tablecloth poetry

the sadness was locked away,
frozen behind my shivering ribcage
and I miss the way this ice felt in
my veins,
almost as if I'd never have to
feel again


how could I forget?
this rain is colder than any
winter I've ever known