winter hands

the dirtied snow melts into the softened ripe earth

only to change its mind at dusk and powder the streets with crisp white abundance once more.

a stinging breeze lingers near my ear as the clouds briefly clear to allow the suns momentary respite.

i can’t deny these fingers have thawed after winters more bitter;

but still, the reddened flesh of my hands pronounces every crease and scar, like wrinkled butcher paper or the many layers of peonies.

nevertheless, my belly yawns with the satiation of warm meals and my body whispers gratitude’s for winters cues and echoes of remembrance.