Snowflake

Snowflake

Cold. Listless. Movement impaired by movement implied.

White around everywhere, in the corner of eye movement.

The day was long. Long and red.

Conversations around the room. Whispers

everywhere about what? Something

round perhaps, with frills. Something

like an apple. In the window there’s a bird.
Perhaps a hawk. Perhaps stalking prey.

Perhaps ruminating on the worm he had eaten over dinner with his Aunt Josephine over afternoon brunch.

Strange coat. Did they use an entire fox? Two foxes?

The fur around her hood like a game of whose richest.

My turn. Called in. Sit down and speak.

I spoke. I spoke beautifully. Loquaciously. Vociferously.

Not Highfalutin of course. Thats too much.

Shake hands. Shaken. Hands or mind? Definitely.

Take my jacket. Taken. Hat? Check!

It is quite peaceful outside. Very nice when

my cheeks start burning because the cold makes them hot.

Like the smart speech makes me feel stupid.

At least the white snow is just white and not

off white or grey or a shade. Until the cars drive by and

make it a shade. Like clockwork. Was white

now not white.