Winter Babe

I was born in winter. I was born at night.
A cold galleon the shape of a bare branch carried me to shore.
A cold white hand pulled me from out darkness and laid me down in darkness.
A needle in the form of icicle pricked, and kissed me with blue lips.
I say, that the hard frozen earth is fond of me.
I say that summer and heat know not what to do with me.
Cool stone was the cradle that tried to love me.
Snowy bone was the arm that beckoned me to walk.
In my first breaths light was a guest of the hours.
Life was in the thermostat and bulbs and blankets.
A body broke, if left alone for too long.
The longer I slept, the more death slipped into me.
I still dream of racing after the day.
I still dream of the lilac tree without blossoms, caked in rime.

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