winter blues.

picture and a poem, day twenty-five.

sometimes, i wonder what my mother's first winter in the States was like.
i wonder if she and her first husband spent the nights holding each other
in their bare apartment, if they took solace in the warmth
of each other’s bodies as they waited for that first, cold winter to pass.
what did she think of washington heights? what did she think
of the sounds of car alarms in the evenings, the shattering of glass,
the sounds of fists colliding with faces.
the honeymoon was over, and her husband starts raising his hand as well.
had she left one war for another?
i wonder how much it snowed that first winter.
i imagine my mother spending her days looking out her window,
rubbing her hands together and trying to see past the snow flurries.
i imagine her thinking to herself, as warm tears stream down her face,
my body doesn’t belong to all this cold.