where just a couple of pigeons are living
i dream of snow.
curled in my bed, the rough wool of my blankets tracing lines around my legs and getting trapped by my left leg, i slowly re-imagine the way snow squeaks when you twist your foot just so. i envision the way snow on a hat feels. i imagine that i can taste the water that runs from melting flakes as a sudden rush of warm air from a well-heated shop passes through me.
tucked up on the couch under the ugly blanket, i watch kate come in from outside with her face red and her nose running from the cold. i remember how it feels to have the tip of your nose go numb despite wearing two scarves. i re-live the way cold legs burn when they enter a warm room. i consider what it is to really and truly appreciate a hot chocolate on a cold day.
from my room, i watch the snow fall outside onto kent street.
i forget what that sounds like.