the air is icy,
I am amazed by the ongoing
incoherence of the
patterns of snowflake icicles.
harder becomes the dark night air
with every accumulated breath,
through them I soon
the walls surrounding me
are now thicker than an Eskimo’s igloo,
the protection is not hindered
because all that can destroy it
are heat and brute force towards it,
both things readily unavailable.
I stare upwards,
my eyes glazing over the shining surface,
I want to slide my bare hands across the walls
but cold burns do not
appeal to me,
instead I huddle my knees to my chest,
internalising the heat that I have left,
I need a thermometer to catch
the correct reading,
but I will be fine for the time being,
this frigid air my lung sacs are suckling,
they are managing.
the negative further drops,
gusts of wind blow through the cavity’s entrance,
my matted, unkempt hair,
a frostbitten decorated mop.
it’s far safer indoors than
it is outside in that deep blizzard,
at least inhaling the
warmer huddled air
is marginally easier.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
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