Snowflakes are thick as thieves tonight
and just as stealthy, piling up
on window sills and railings.
Smog has settled in to stay.

Inside, with you, the logs in the fire
crackle and spit. Your father’s harsh
words still ring in my ears, burn bits
of my heart like the embers on hearth.

You sit next to me, silent as carven
statue but still lovely in your skin,
pale as marble, cold from the bus ride
home, cold from our rejection.

“Sticks and stones” means nothing,
a good intentioned children’s rhyme.
I touch your hand, a whisper touch.
You don’t pull away.

So let the snow fall, let frost etch
the sooty window glass, let the fire
die down to a glow. In the morning,
we’ll shovel out together.