this infection

It was the snow that brought you to me

All day I have been waiting to sit down and write,
an ache that bites into the bone.

I spend all day sewing and when it starts snowing
I run to the door to make sure that it`s
still coming down.
Good things come with the snow, you see.
It was the snow that brought you to me.

(Although I shudder and shake to think of the state
I`d be in if you hadn`t been
online that day, but no matter -
sometimes a lucky break is all that it takes.)

I am delirious with the promise of
bad weather. When I walk out the door
I will it to keep falling down, and the
sky obliges as I walk downtown.

I am joyful when the flakes fall down
on me, all bundled up with my worn purple
scarf knotted tightly around my
throat. I look up, I am struck by the
dimensions of each flake, bits of
paper clinging to my hair.

I chainsmoke.
Soon, I am cold.
A barren chill fills me. My bags, my skirt,
I am covered in ice and i think about how the
snow brought me to you.

And i wait for the wind to welcome me.
I wait for a sign from the stars
and I wait, and I pray that you will soon
call me forth like I did this cold weather.