the snow queen

i thought i could escape her winter breath
with thick insulated jackets, frequent tea-times,
and two socks on each foot–oh, and warm boots don’t always help.
she slicks the paths with her tongue,
draws constellations of snowflakes with her fingers
and whips her long, white hair in our faces. most of the time,
i despise her unexpected visits, the
clarity of her deep-blue skies, the silence
after her storm. she’s like that friend
i like to see is doing well in pictures
but who i can’t spend so much time with. like that person
you crush on from afar—
but that’s where they belong.