1.
I’ll paste together a family of snow,
packing them in a row,
First the father with a button-nose,
the wife and her rosy lips,
one son with tiny toes,
and a daughter lunging wide hips,
they’ll be mended by the same white flakes,
clumped from Chicago’s hair,
they’ll always be close cause they can’t move,
as long as the winter stays chilly and cold,
I stare at my creation,
rubbing my hands for warmth,
wondering why my family melts away
even as the dead of winter folds.
2.
Blizzard: Settling
mounds as white as grandma’s hair.
Closed: lights are
off while the grey clouds linger high.
Family: No sign of
mom’s car as the snow reaches our window.
Alone: Watching fat
flecks covering everything slowly, clean.
3.
I’m sitting under a withering tree with the
moon as my guiding star.
Winter dreams
chime with ringing of bells and traveling
two places to eat a dinner.
It’s not a war
but a time of giving.
Don’t ask for words
if you’ll use them as knives. I’m not sure
why mom cries holding a corona bottle. I’m
not sure why children lift their fists against
me. I’m not sure why
Dad silently steers
his head not looking my way.
I’m not sure why
my brother died. I’m
not sure why I want
to leave this place. I don't know why my
family sits apart in the same home. I'm not
sure why my mother cheated on my father.
I don't know why my life laughs at me. I’ll stay
in shadows of my room as they spit at one another,
wrapped in my youth blanket tightly, my eyes
growing heavy as Christmas melodies dance
into my ears. I can't fall asleep without noise.
