Cold for Centuries

Why do I complain about the cold?
I’m a January baby after all.
I was made out of these elements,
the particles putting together a woman that can resist even the toughest tools. But
with the right ones, I become a sculpture that could be stared at for centuries.

What do I find so offensive about the winter?
I am the snow that glistens
after the blizzard causes its destruction,
reminding people that there’s beauty after chaos.
Ice crystals protect my heart, but they also
provide a place for people to
hold hands as they glide
where they couldn’t even walk before.

How can I be upset with myself when
I melt in moments where the sun breaks
the darkness in the most magnificent of ways?
Like the sun that energizes my spirit,
I wish to melt the ice that covers others’ hearts,
enticing them to beat harder than they have
since a tundra tunneled its way to
what used to be a prelapsarian center.

Who am I to deny myself–
a mother would never burrow herself and
leave her young to the wind, so how can I
so unnaturally neglect
the warmth that glows from me
even when it is coldest outside?

When will I learn to embrace
that which makes me shudder sometimes?
The bitterness and shivers simply should not make me quiver –
especially when I have what it takes to unite the most persuasive river.

Anna Dron
February 23, 2015