North dakota 1977
I walk outside in the winter,
The air to me smells like raw bacon.
I do not know why.
The snow blows in a blindness of white
the sky a plate glass grey.
I walk to school,
8 years old and I walk alone.
I will find my way there.
My shoes shelve snowy flakes
upon my small, cold toes
and though my coat is warm
I still breathe the icy morning
my breath puffing out in long,
white strands.
This early, there is only the
low, milky sun and I
following our selected courses
And I ask the birds as I pass by
“Where do you go when the wind blows?”.
I worry for the birds.
I sift through snowy flakes on the ground,
feeling the small, cold pearls
of frozen bits here and there.
Making a wish that my eyes could see
something beyond the white
and feel warm again.
But here the air is cut through
like knives in my lungs.
I walk still down the street
And think of nothing.
Mind blank like the white morning.
Heather Lake
Heather Lake
