Branches were powdered with endless white snow
The sweetness of this feeling like sugar
on baked dough
All warm-blooded creatures huddled in closely
to the warmth of wood sparked with orange glow
Like a slate, our past is set to blank
Tonight let me be forgiven in this
Set apart from the one so normally dank
And tell me it’s okay for me to come home
when my pain begins to surface
like mud beneath the snow.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.