Winter Triptych

By Kendra Whitfield

I.                Saturday

The sky is blue today.                                                                                                                                           

Crystal sunlight glazes the snowy lawn                                                                                                     

 Shattered by the shadow of a passing raven.                                                                                                             

   I toss him leftover bacon.  Hope he can find it through the fog of my breath.

“A Polar Vortex is expected to pummel the prairies with plummeting             

temperatures and high wind chill values.”

Motors seize. Tires square. Cords snap.                                                                                                            

We are stilled.                                                                                                                                                     

I cuddle into a blanket cocoon.                                                                                                                            

 Spring is time enough for butterflies.                                                                                                               

Cold grants us luxurious respite from quotidian tasks:                                                                                         

Un-attended meetings, un-run errands, un-held parties.                                                                                  

 We gather in:                                                                                                                                                

Share heat, light, laughter.                                                                                                                             

Praise the cold.

II.              Sunday

Bulb-shattering mercury.                                                                                                                               

Lung-slicing diamonds hang in air                                                                                                                   

  Too cold for snow, too clear for gravity.

“Extreme cold warnings are issued when very cold temperatures create an elevated risk

to health, such as frostbite and hypothermia.”

On the coldest days, I pull out memories:                                                                                          

My grandmother’s bread pans.

My father’s recipe for split pea soup.                                                                                                                      

My brother’s Aran sweater.                                                                                                                             

My mother’s electric blanket.                                                                                                                             

The cat abandons her sunbeam for my radiating lap and fingers that fondle her ears.                                    

I drowse,                                                                                                                                                        

Belly and soul heavy with inherited comfort.                                                                                            

Praise the cold.

III.            Monday

The patio door is frozen shut.                                                                                                                    

Thick frost pushes through the screens and thrusts                                                                                              

A thousand bone-white fingers at the double-glazing.                                                                             

Sunshine flows like frozen honey.                                                                                                    

Chickadees dart at the empty feeder.                                                                                                                

A squirrel skitters frantically between pinecone stashes,                                                                                    

His frosted brain frazzling between survival imperatives:                                                                                   

Stay warm. Stay fed. Stay sheltered.

            “Cover up. Frostbite can develop within minutes on exposed skin. 

            If it’s too cold for you to stay outside, it’s too cold for your pets to stay outside.”

I pass a snowbank piled high with garbage bags and Goodwill scarves,                                                  

Swaddled in discarded blankets.                                                                                                                      

He tells me he’s stargazing,                                                                                                                          

That the sky is never more beautiful than when the air is so                                                              

Treacherously clear.                                                                                                                                 

Praise the cold.