i remember
the crisp, cold taste of winter
on my prickling tongue, those mornings i’d wake up
to muted gray light
filtering through the curtains
and right away i’d know — outside, everything must be
blanketed beneath a sweet white layer
of snow, like a fairy had come
and powdered the bushes, the trees,
iced the road like a winding chocolate cake. i’d rush to the curtains
(my pajamas feeling suddenly cozy
as they ever had) and gaze
at that wonderland of winter:
