Winter Burning: a poem

Winter Burning

First appearance in Rookie Magazine (Deeply Rooted, April 2016)

I.

When I was younger, my little sister and I

would lay on our backs, our stomachs,

pool like warm wells

insulated by snow and blubber and boots,

run, make disfigured snow angels,

a mountain-like snowman that never got the memo

that snowmen were shaped like spheres,

crowd behind a papery snow-fort, throw

snowballs like pearls: sparingly, sparingly

using towels to clean up the icicles

on the inside of our sleeves, the snow jammed

down our socks

Snow burning, a sweet phenomenon

This was only meant to be

II.

My breath is thick on the glass

When we were little, my sister and

I would make up stories in the

condensation, on the leather

car seats, on the backs of our necks

My mother tells us that we are Indians,

Dravidians, not built for weather

Livid with heat a at the dawn of every snowfall,

light, like powder, dusting rooftops,

lacing on eyelashes, wiping the solemn

tears of flora, turning it to frost

I was made for mangos, for guavas,

for dry heat and wetter weather

Vriddhi Vinay·
1 min
·
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