the January cold
slow shows my scars
from the road from the night
everything changed
across my chest and mid and
my neck sometimes goes purple
I don’t tell anyone I
remember the helicopter ride
since I wasn’t awake and
for that bit of while not
technically alive but people
won’t get it or get it all wrong
some stuff should stay unsaid
private and quiet like Mom’s
birthday came around for
solitary celebration during
the time of the full of the
Moon named for the wolves
and a best friend
turned twenty and one
I remember that year I texted
four years till beer
feels we’re in the
home stretch he said and
I laughed at the manner
my little big town deals
with the snow as if we’ve
never known Winter’s grace
and the awkward footing
requiring a slower pace
we walked as the morning
light painted everything white
until our fingers went numb
our toes nestling frozen my
mind turning ten sliding head
first on a radio flyer
steel rails and a wooden
deck down the way high
high school hill with
the jump bump at middle
it was about speed and air
let the foot draggers beware
the screen-time is scream
time for everything is on fire
the doom scroll dying
up to its name all
this hatred and pain I table
place it aside returning
to the civility of words of
opening books opening minds
too much self care not
enough time together with
people I love people I
don’t know instead
of steaming in a hot
bath finger tracing
discolored edges drawing
pictures of the past just
because the January cold
slow shows my old road
1. Cover photo design by Author, from a photo by Yurii Khomitskyi, Unsplash
© Copyright William Hazel, 2025
Comments