Snowstorm Overdose
Naoise Gale
It started in Winter, snow on the ground like
A muffled high, singular pills swallowed like
Falling flakes, taste of rainwater and perfunctory
Minerals, then a cupped hand’s worth, snowballs
Of smelted ice that pounded the chin and smashed
Powdery on the frost-sheathed gravel. Summer
Came but the snow didn’t melt, it was a cold
Cap atop the nubile grass which should have
Sprouted and sprung, should have emerged
Regardless. There was a coldness that
Thrilled, that divided, that ached. Like a
Slipped disk, crescent-shaped, or a dislocated
Shoulder. Like a cracked knee, or a black ice
Bruise. I kept on slipping as though the slide
Would save me, as though piling snow atop
Snow atop snow was a solution. One night,
The sky was white and I shivered on the
Brink of a snowstorm overdose. Flakes
Fat as coins blurred on the horizon. The
Wind swept drifts outside the doors.
The house was a cold fact. My arms arched,
As though making snow angels. And my blue
Lips blistered, freeze-burnt. When I awoke,
There was stinking yellow grass outside my
Window. Daffodils in a vase by the bed. My
Mother in a spring dress. The bleat of a heart
Monitor. Now I wear a transdermal patch,
And the snow is molten slush, seeping through
My pores so I do not vomit. The sun is out
Again. But I miss my footsteps in the snow,
Disappeared like cold breath before
Anyone had the chance to see them.
