Carol Cross

It's snowing again, or still,
my world has been white so long,
I can't remember which.

I drop another birch on the fire,
insurance against the cold.

I sit here, cradle my coffee mug,
the one with purple polar bears
dancing between green snowflakes.

It's not fun anymore, this world,
where color has lost its meaning,
where polar bears and snowflakes
are always white.

The 2River View, 1_2 (Winter 1997)