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“Winter Candy” in A Book of Winter Recipes

by Yocheved Friedman

Winter is
Only the warm memories
Wind that tastes like mint and ice
Burning nose tips and finger tips.

Ground tealeaves and maple candy

Sticky on the insides of knitted things.

Ice-rains in Vermont and

Snow deer up in Maine.

The texture of frost melting on wood
Absorbing into shrill winds and

Crusty memory banks.

Cold pulsing through floor panels

Bones, blue teeth.
Pine needles that beckon snow

To silent mountain tops
Purple shadows that stain the snow of Narrow villages
Smoke that burns the sky white.

Car windshields blinded by frost

On the drive upstate

For a long weekend home

During the holidays.

 

Leftover Thanksgiving pie

Winter desserts dusted by sugar

To resemble snow

 

The sounds of low refrigerator hums

And the last five minutes of Football games

Blaring while the snow outside is silent.

Many wolves howling at invisible moons

Where pine needles prickle the silhouette of lonely sky.

 

Winter is the season of window-shopping

Snow boots padding rainy streets and

Deep, subtle colors in catalogues.

 

 

 

 

When it snows, the world looks like

The inside of a mental asylum’s
White space filled by falling cold.
Trees that web the sky in knobby fibers
That wrap the winds into eddies.

Winter is being the last one left.
It’s the only time when the wind-gusts Outside take up all of the sounds.
It’s the feeling of being still
In the white noise
And the sky being unified with the snow-ground.
Walking in dystopian fields, feeling lost and all together strange.

Forgotten by the cold and where

The sun has entirely drowned.

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