A Fresh Start

Portrait of a Blizzard

I wrap a scarf over my nose,
Wary,
Wary,
Wary of winter.
So much so that I dug through
Jumbles of jackets,
Mounds of mittens,
And copious coats
To find my only swathe of scarf.

It still smells of sweat,
Or is it snow, 
Or is it you--
Borrowing my things without asking,
Insisting we chase the world,
Dragging me out into bitter winds.

Trees are beautiful in ice,
You'd say;
I'll keep you warm.
I'll keep you warm
And I'll lend you my gloves
And I'll clean the dirty laundry
And, someday, I'll shovel the sidewalk.
Just let me show you Now before Forever.

But you had no warmth
And you lost your gloves
And you never washed this scarf
And there is no Forever past this Now,
No snowy pavement which you would clear.

I throw the scarf into the wash,
Wary,
Wary,
Wary of its lingering past.
Winter is fearsome, but its
Withering winds,
Infiltrating ice,    
And caustic cold
Will never rival your own.

Frostbite may flash its icicle talons,
But a blizzard will be more gentle than your pride.