Defrosting Slow

By Maddie Willigar | Editor-in-Chief

My breath morphs into saturated air

like clouds of dew that pour straight from my lungs

and flakes of white fall like a morning prayer

that softly drips off tips of human tongues.

The neighbor kids whip their packed balls of snow

at layered armor: puffer coats of plush.

Each child falls like leaning dominoes

until the numbing chill makes their cheeks flushed.

I hear their parents call from cozy homes

the warming sound melts through my train of thought.

There’s something in the comfort of their tones

that pulls me back to moments I forgot—

            my childhood preserved in blocks of ice

            defrosting slow and coming back to life.