Some thoughts on the loose ends of winter:
Remnants that scatter.
Soon to be forgotten.
Bared by the persistent cold
prove too fragile to stand,
neither whole, nor in any semblance of form.
A relentless wind, whipping panic,
freezing each and every protuberance.
Removing the timid,
Exposing all that is meager.
There is hardly anything left.
The children asked for the beach,
so I took them to the Baltic Sea
half frozen in March.
We had hoped for warmth,
the full sun seemed to promise it,
but winter wasn’t over.
My face tingled to a blazing red,
Glowing in the glut of a furnace—crucially missed,
ears numbed by bitter slaps
as I sought the fond memory of a tranquil shore.
Text and images by M.P. Baecker © 2018.