Won’t Stop Snowing

 

Once upon a time, I could move
the world to my whim.
With little more than stated intention,
I could wish away the snow.

He insisted on being a test
of that perception, a borderline
obsession, my wind-cracked lips
bleeding, feeding this soundtrack
to the disaster we had yet to manifest.
I unscrewed the snow globe
and got my way.

He sent me to bed singing
on a mountaintop, but I woke up
in a back-alley dumpster, covered
in a dusting of rejection.
He didn’t say disinterest.
He said inconvenient.
Leaving me mincing words,
like construction paper snowflakes,
calculating the odds of precipitation,
plotting a plow plan to remove
the obstructions.

I labeled my right leg his,
stepping one bare foot
out the door
and into the snow.
Limb by limb,
he may have me, but
he won’t take me.

I was sure I could change
the weather,
but the white accumulates,
buries me.
It won’t stop
and it won’t melt
for weeks.