childwind winter 

sometimes i cannot stop it from snowing.
my brother is there the size of a tomato. 
we freeze in the yard. turn into obelisks.
the bell tower forgets the concept of time
& rings onward through the night. 
in my parent's house the walls are thin. 
if the wind runs childlike
through the valley, you feel it on your face
in the living room. on the floor of the kitchen.
have you ever been in a field walking toward
a lighthouse? do not finish the picture book.
do not keep the radio on. the ghosts escape.
everyone dies happy. i associate the color red
with january. my mother's scratchy gloves.
the smell of a stove burning our spare hair. 
when it starts snowing i collect what i can.
i am in the business of evidence. of stopping
the waterfall before it is a waterfall. i take pictures
when there's a polar bear. show them off
to anyone who will listen which is
not many people. instead, there is always 
a firework day to cozy up to. a new species 
to take into our genders. i call my sibling
begging them to look out the window & promise
me it is snowing. we are in the middle of may.
it is not unheard of. where i come from
nothing is as it should be. that is the refrain 
of our generation. the "as it should be" a turned
screw in the mouth of a long gone machine. the snow,
persistent. melting in the dandelion faces. 
my siblings, all of us, the size of grapes. we glisten.
eat the snow with our bare hands
& just as soon as it is here, it is gone.