A Frozen Meditation

By Jeff Neidt

People don’t notice whether it is winter or summer when they are happy.   —Chekov

It is winter. I see it

in the silence of falling snow and

the exposed, splintered branches

of trees, straining toward the sky

like praying fingers, wishing

x

to be saved from the reality

of bareness. I know winter

is here as the days grow shorter

and the nights darken the

inside of a room. I feel it

x

in the chilled air between us.

The season shows in frozen stares

and frigid glances. I feel it

in the loneliness of night;

remembering when we’d pause

x

to wrap ourselves between

the frosted windows outside

and darkness within. Now

my teeth chatter rhythms

like Morse code as I walk over fields

x

leaning toward emptiness. Here

and there, imprints in ice hold

memories of the past—a frozen

meditation of shape. But your lips

gave way so easily. There is

x

a world outside these insults and

injuries—maybe—we are just too

afraid to find it. Ours is a snowflake

love. Either brushed away or

melted at the first warm touch.

_____

Jeff Neidt is a freelance writer and teacher in St. Paul. He has
taught creative writing in schools and universities in the Twin Cities
and Germany, and at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis. His own
writing was published in various books and journals including Alive,
Artist-At-Large, and Traveler’s Tales. Jeff’s first book was published
by Blue Bike Books in 2008.


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