I Seem to Forget

I don’t remember cold fingertips,

or Madame Winter scratching flushed cheeks

scraping her bare teeth across patched skin.

She allowed us to seek comfort in hot chocolate.

I seem to forget the faces perfect with

snow sprinkled eyelashes and noses,

cheeks that bloom into a rosy flower,

one that matches the celestial marigold of the snow.

I wish I could help you my dear

help you remember why the earth was

still that day, how quiet the snow

made the city, the street, the homes.

I would love to help you,

but my memory is slipping from

between my ashy palms and knuckles,

and I can’t seem to remember why I love the winter.

• poetry
• winter
• writing