to write to winter's end

i. you are snow, the frost & everything
that can bring untold fragile beauty to
the world you watch from your window, or
reduce it to slivers.

(it's your sharp wit, your razor words,
that will always be a weapon of choice.
don't lose them, for all the damage you
cause with them cannot hold a candle to
what would happen if you didn't anymore)

ii. to write to a ghost, cold & harsh with
her heart of winter, is an adventure in itself.
to mold words that rival frozen rivers &
fresh snows, without changing the landscape.

(i am a summer girl, born in the heart of
a desert and molded by the harsh sun &
heavy rains. i do not know how to be calm,
collected, or anything by a whirlwind, a
natural distaster that in neither controlled
nor on a warpath. sometimes, i wish i was
more like you, able to distance yourself
without a thought, without a care-

& then, i realized you couldn't do that
any better than me, & it turns out you're
not made of winter glass like you thought)

iii. this poem may not find you,
my darling ghost of winter,
the snow and ice may have buried you
before this gets to you, before
you step outside,
before, before, before.

somewhere, there is warmth
you can't run away from
no matter how hard you try
(please, see it as comfort,
to warm up, to speak your mind.
please, see it as permission
to ask for help when you need it.)