My father built the house with rocks; my mother threw them.Snow came through the holes she made.She watched us freeze.
The wind blew snowdrifts to the ceiling. The floor iced over.We lived in this frozen tundra,praying for sun.
It was frigid; snowflakes filled our vision, decoratedthe air. I wanted to catch themon my tongue
but was afraid they were poisonous. The neighbors lovedgazing at the house, said the icelooked so pretty. We didn’t
want it. I would’ve begged them to drag me out of there,had my lips not frozen shut,had I not been buried
in a snow blanket. I’m still there, smothered byice and snow, the seething eyesof mother, these poems
in the silence. I hear the girl cry for help, seeher frosty breaths, feel her needfor light and warmth.
Can you set an ice castle on fire?
Photo by Siora Photography on Unsplash