Grandma’s House

Crunching snow under my feet,
I like this sound.
I bend reality, 
Like a minor key
Of desolation

Frosted branches
frozen in silence
Until the wind breaks them
into sticks.
 
Cold attacks my cheeks.
It’s the crunch of footsteps
and sparkle on white
That leads me down 
Deception Pass~~
freezing is not an illusion

Just a few steps more
and in the wood fire’s flame
My hands will thaw 
into stinging nettles 
Then I will have
all I ever wanted 
a tender moment
with you.
And a cookie