A Small Comfort
The streets turn to ice,
and flakes fall fast.
I point my head into the wind.
My eyes sting so much
I begin to cry.
Books shuffle in my bag,
promising an evening of studying and headache.
I hold small comfort in my hands.
The smell of pumpkin and chai
dance in my nostrils and
slow the burning in my eyes.
I am reminded of playing in piles of leaves
and easy Christmas mornings.
I take a sip,
hot tea singes my tongue,
but I don’t care.
Around me the world is a snow cone,
so I take another sip.
My mouth burns
but I don’t care.
My world is softer, easier.
Blue lips begin to thaw,
I feel like a rolling ball of steam.
My body is a fire in the middle of a storm.
I smile.