“Pile up the wood stack high. Winter is ahead,” he says. Smoke climbs out of the chimney into the sky. As November rolls into New York, with wind and rain sounding outside, an inescapable …
“Pile up the wood stack high. Winter is ahead,” he says. Smoke climbs out of the chimney into the sky. As November rolls into New York, with wind and rain sounding outside, an inescapable chill lingers around the house.
My nose running and lungs working through a cold.
My bottom lip swelling and scabbing over.
Each toe a frozen baby carrot.
Already, the sun is only a myth, something I used to remember. Something I’ll have to imagine: the orange sun, wrapping it’s warmth over my skin. I hear the gunshots outside and see the bucks who hide. Across the window frozen flakes flurry; people hurry puffed up in jackets, wrapped up in scarves and tied with a bow. Driving around in a Jeep with broken heat. My winter fat on my bones, tucked under the covers at home.
Send the heat to warm my frozen feet. Send the light to last longer.
Send a flower and press it for me, until the cold is over.
Kali Seastrand is a local artist and musician from Hurleyville, NY. She studied Fine Art at The Fashion Institute of Technology and likes to express herself in different creative mediums. Drawing inspiration from her surroundings and streams of consciousness, she dedicates her life to the process of creating.
Keep up with Kali at www.facebook.com/kaliseastrand.