Little girls kiss the crisp, crimson lips of autumn goodbye
to turn and receive winter with open arms
for he is their favorite season.
Inspecting his snowflakes as they cake
onto icy blades of grass and unfruitful trees
is their favorite activity.
Even his ashen, slushy roads and white skies make them grin.
Oh,
they wonder how anyone could ever be afraid of snow.

But shards of frost can slice through pure skin so easily
when drunk boys push girls down and rape them of December,
and the coldest part is not even until tomorrow
when his apologies means nothing
because he does not remember.

Oh,
I used to wonder how anyone could ever be afraid of snow,
but now I know.
Rising inside a tower of ice every frozen morning
and aching for some constant flame,
if I cannot hold onto autumn,
I just pretend I am okay.