micaela walley
Lift me up like the dead
branches tilt slivers of snow
toward the sky. Everything red
yellows, even the winter
berries made for this kind of cold.
Though your hand in mine
has never been a fashion
statement. Each grasp
a source of necessary heat
to stay alive. Grip my face
within the wool of your gloves
as we stand on the edge
of something new and slippery.
I won’t forget the water
that courses through its own
iced self. I won’t
let either of us
fall.
***
Micaela Walley is an MFA candidate at the University of Baltimore. Her work can be found in ENTROPY, Hobart, Huffpost, and Okay Donkey Magazine. She currently lives in Hanover, Maryland with her best friend–Chunky, the cat.