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, decorated
the air. I wanted to catch them
on my tongue 

but was afraid they were poisonous. The neighbors loved
gazing at the house, said the ice
looked 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 by
ice and snow, the seething eyes
of mother, these poems 

in the silence. I hear the girl cry for help, see 
her frosty breaths, feel her need 
for light and warmth.

Can you set an ice castle on fire?

Photo by Siora Photography on Unsplash

Angelic Armendariz

Angelic (Angie) Armendariz currently works as an Education Assitant in an Elementary school while pursuing her MFA at UNO. She has 3 doggie furkids that are spoiled rotten.