Jennifer Yeatts' work has been published in the Rio Grande Review and Glass: A Journal of Poetry, among other journals. She received her MFA from the University of Idaho and currently writes from Traverse City, Michigan. Read her coffee blog at javaforjustice.com.
If enough of us could land among the rest.
If this reflected gleam — drift, waft, sullen
wind — would wait for the next gust
before leaning headlong into the heap
that used to be the garden,
we’d join with each slush & flake, melt
into pools that tomorrow’d be a perfect glare
ice union for run-&-slide, slip-&-fly.
If figure skates.
If mittens. March would crunch dry
under tracks, sell its subzero Midwestern truth
for a late-model carol. And when the squall
forgets its origin (so long since anything
but frozen kaleidoscopes),
when schools run out of snow
days, we’ll hit you stiff, calamity of whiteout
thicker than a sky full of marshmallows,
storm within a storm, & you’ll sleep
one more night with your boots on,
shiver yourself warm under polarfleece
& patchwork, breathe in quick
through your numb nose, & you’ll love
the dumb, early dark harder than ever.