Minnesota Minnesota:

Delicate snowfall blankets

your barren ground.

The first flake of white

captures lustful eyes

sparks awe within passersby.

The second flake,

a dainty doily from the sky.

The third,

the fourth,

the fifth...

They fall and they fall

until they become one pure coat

of polished white.

The next morning:

briskness stirs me out

of the comforting cave

of pillows and blankets.

I only move from my bed

in order to see the pristine beauty

that blessed the earth the day before.

But what,

what is that?

That dingy bear sleeping on the curbside?

It is a hill of snow,

no longer clean,

depressing to look at,

disgusting to touch.

I step outside,

expecting the radiant sunshine to melt

my frozen features,

but I am struck

with a wisp of wind

so fierce

it hurts my face.

Tears leak from my eyes

but freeze to my skin,

leaving racing strips of mascara

cascading down my cheeks.

I hustle to class,

cutting through buildings

chasing the warmth that cannot manage

to remain inside my

seventeen layers of insulation.

My hand skin dries,

cracks,

breaks,

bleeds.

The money I spend on lotion alone

is enough to feed a small child.

I reach for the door handle

of the classroom building.

My hand jumps back in fright.

So cold it feels hot,

I pry the door open and

release a long-kept sigh

of relief,

a new found appreciation for warmth.

As I sit in class,

attention wanes,

my eyes glaze over

like a fresh pastry,

as I daydream into the wonderland outside.

Gorgeous.

Why did I complain so much about this winter again?

Icicles dangling from the precipices of

frosty buildings;

Trees clothed in

spaghetti straps of snow;

Sunlight reflecting

off every inch

of that luminous lace.

Brilliant.

As I sweat under my

layers of sweatshirts,

I almost forget how hard

the winter bites into my skin.

Leaving teethmarks of chill.

I remember why I moved here.

Just look at that natural iridescence.

I bundle back up.

Walk out the door.

My breath flees my lungs.

Ah yes.

I remember now.

The prickling pain

of the negative degrees.

But it is just a five minute

power walk from here to there.

Then I am free to embrace

the grace of the Minnesota winter

from the comfort of my comforter.

A steaming cup of something

thawing my ice blocks of fingers.

I love the cold,

but I hate being cold.

I suffer the cold outside

because the artist

Mother Nature

paints a picture so glorious

it makes one forget

what suffering even is.

I close my eyes and

drift to sleep,

weighted by blankets,

just as the earth is blanketed by winter.