I take the comfort from
the seasons’ soft edges
That this is not time.
The ice that holds your
footprint slides upwards
into my bones
We must step—
Carefully. Slower, now.
I have been thinking
that all snow is
some form
of falling
Soon it will be time
to forget the old fear,
slipping off
the wrong side
of that darkened line.
—
Anneliese Schneider is currently an undergraduate student, living in Virginia and pursuing a personal interest in poetry and literature.
