snow

my memory begins to melt
the more my thoughts collect on
my father. pieces of the past go missing
and my mind makes a new story
of the moments once memorized.

when I was younger we used to
build igloos together, creating
circular chunks of ice with warm
mittens made to suppress the bitter
wind creeping inside our coats.

it has been a decade since his death
and I have somehow forgotten how the
frost rested on his face or the slush of
sounds swaddled inside his voice.
the harder I try to remember the less I can.

every year we would build a snowman
to greet passing cars, except the year
the snowman refused to come to life.
the harder I tried to roll, the less I could.
this snow is too soft, not sticky enough

sometimes I wish brains had mittens,
something to keep their contents safe
from fading out of focus, so I would
stop forgetting the things I want to
freeze into immortality, keep sacred.

each December I begin to crave
the snow, the sensation of my skin
stinging as I fall back into white mush,
praying the snow angels I make will
never be like my dad, will never dissolve.

I want to stay here forever, let the
frostbite swallow my fingers into
stillness. I want the falling snowflakes
to fold around my body like a blanket,
keeping all parts of me numb, frozen.