Winter in Certain American Cities
By Alina Zollfrank
To reduce this season to snapshots, headshots, gunshots
does not do them—what was that word again?—
justice. Did (just-) abandon (-ice)?
What makes for cold truth?
Folded donut cartons?
Warm cups of something sweet?
Snow mounts, decorative and defensive?
Does a candle vigil, a prayer poem, an obit
mean we combine
(just-) again with (-ice)?
“It’s just ice,” my kids said when I worried
they might slip. Massive boots, fluffy scarves,
mittens collided in our safe, safe street.
Gingerly, gingerly I stepped outside. Sudden
giggle burbles rose when my arms took flight.
My heart, remembering childhood’s glitter magic,
flitted on skidding soles.
“Just ice?”—no, this winter was so much more.
Let’s rejoice, neighbors, rejoice.
Joy on slippery slope
becomes our shield in the face of weather.
Alina Zollfrank dreams trilingually in the Pacific Northwest. Her work has won the DIAJ Award and been nominated repeatedly for Best of the Net and The Pushcart Prize. She has more upcoming in The MacGuffin, Salt Hill, Thimble, Reckon Review, and Sunlight Press. Alina is a grateful recipient of the Washington Artist Trust Grant, committed disability advocate, and hapless but hopeful gardener.
Photo credit: Cecilie Bomstad on Unsplash
A Note from Writers Resist
Thank you for reading! If you appreciate creative resistance and would like to support it, you can make a small, medium or large donation to Writers Resist on our Give a Sawbuck page.