Dead of night, winter chill We feel the snowflakes land upon our skin Like hot pokers sinking slowly, Steam lifting as the sting seeps into bone.
I bury you close in my chest, Your long lashes catching the flurries A fringe of white to frame the pure brown Of your sweet hazelnut iris.
My tears add a splash of blue Cascading down onto your upturned face, A platter to hold my sorrows as they run Down your nose to freeze on the icy floors.
You are long past the point of crying; I am long past the point of aching. Together we survive; somehow. This is our second year against the bitter cold.
Your gentle belly growls as we pass The street-lined silver cans; so I dig. A core of an apple isn’t much, but I let you nibble Tiny teeth gnawing, lips puckered to spit the seeds.
A breadcrumb trail showing us the way back home When there is no home at all. I’d gather the crumbs and sow them into the apples of your cheeks; Ripe again for the picking.
Ambrielle Butler is an emerging poet from Texas and stay-at-home mother. She started her Instagram poetry page (@a.j.butler.poetry) in October 2019 and continues to share short pieces of poetry with her 1900+ followers daily. She has a bachelor’s degree in microbiology from Brigham Young University.