I hold on, by a thread it seems.
The puff coat
Barely masks
My shivering.

There's a hole in my wool gloves.
On the tip
Of the pinky,
Just there, do you see it?
The blue skin is visible,
A wall between
My heart
And the ice.

Stomping my feet,
Clenching my fists,
The movement only helps
For so long
Before I'm pulled back
To the snowy reality.

My teeth chatter,
Like thirty two
Little ice cubes,
Freezing my words
Before they even reach
The frosty air.

I wonder idly
If the bird feeder
Left on my back porch
Is still able
To provide food.

But most of the birds
Are gone,
This I know.
All that's left
Are the stupid cardinals
And me.

The snow crackles,
Sounding like a warm fire.
A cruel joke for nature to play,
Whe all that's here is ice.

The thought of family
Awaiting me.
Of sun, sweat,
And the ocean
Are the only things fueling me.

Finally, tires screech forwards
And the bus splatters sludge
On my boots
As it pulls up.

I force my legs,
Now frozen logs,
Up the muddy steps.
I sit down at last,
Sighing with relief,
In the near empty bus,
Not realizing
Until it's too late
That I forgot my bag.