n. The feeling of homesickness
without ever leaving home
Winter days half-melted,
compressed ripples,
dripped icicles
around this lake.
We haven’t left here
for decades. We miss
it—this skating rink,
sled lane, no-man’s-land
between snow forts.
Instead, shorelines
crumble. We do, too,
as muscle atrophies
from disuse,
as energy both
heats and cools. What
will come if we stay,
if this changes
before our eyes?
Water needs to run
downstream. It
might be time for
a new beginning, frozen
solid, even in a noon
sun. Clear ice
with light passing
through, bright enough
to beam us home, away.
without ever leaving home
Winter days half-melted,
compressed ripples,
dripped icicles
around this lake.
We haven’t left here
for decades. We miss
it—this skating rink,
sled lane, no-man’s-land
between snow forts.
Instead, shorelines
crumble. We do, too,
as muscle atrophies
from disuse,
as energy both
heats and cools. What
will come if we stay,
if this changes
before our eyes?
Water needs to run
downstream. It
might be time for
a new beginning, frozen
solid, even in a noon
sun. Clear ice
with light passing
through, bright enough
to beam us home, away.
Caroliena Cabada is spending this winter trying to warm her perpetually cold feet. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in Babel Tower Notice Board, Emerge Literary Journal, As It Ought To Be Magazine, and elsewhere. Find her on Twitter and Instagram @cecaroliena.