UMLÄUT 2020 - THE PANDEMIC ISSUE
PROTECT
Nadja Goldberg
Blizzard
I don’t remember why the winter hand lost its grip.
Was it fright? Sweat? A buttery fatigue?
The snowglobe sky cracked,
and this world dripped into another.
Trapped in water and antifreeze,
I’m picking at the tape meant to protect me.
This winter, I’ll ride the upside-down current,
leave this fractured souvenir behind.
I’ll drive and watch trees spindle away.
I’ll park my car and let the snow swallow it.
Find me where days are strung together
by their milkwhite mornings.
I want to feel cold, rub fire into my toes,
forget my footing as I tumble through a storm.
A soft billow of snowflakes numbs the glass edges,
erasing my extremities: I’m only a huddled core.
A cave will protect me like an eyelid: round, unblinking.
I’ll sleep a muffled sleep until the silver beads settle.