Snow Queen

Oddly enough

in winter sometimes the smallest branches,

dull with water and the burden of snow,

bend and bend instead of snapping in the cold.

Once I made a cave--- in March,

when the snow is thick and heavy,

flecked with dirt,

pudding-soft where tires have run it down.

Between two birch trees,

up against a falling-down shed,

my cave: gray snow and

bending twigs, soft little branches---

but it held, it held me!

Curled inside

I listened to my heartbeat,

giddy with escape.

And my breath

made a difference in March.

When I breathed

the edges of my snowdoor melted,

the dirt fell away.

When I held my breath

it froze again

clear and clean,

and it sparkled---

framing my hidden, happy face.