shifting identities

I am hope and tentatively-made plans: to go back to sleep, to go to the library when it stops snowing, to bake cookies, to work from home.
I pace from the window, displaying an increasingly snowy landscape, back to my closet, as I try to figure out how to dress snowday chic. I am uncontained rage as I hang up the snowline.
I trudge sidewalks which fluctuate from shoveled to pedestrian-trampled. I get a respite from the snowfall at the bus stop. I am an edifice dripping snowmelt from the brim of my hat and my shoulders.

Leave a Reply