if I lay still enough
on the hard-packed snow, on the frozen mud and ice
will my body warm up the ground enough
to trick the tiny seeds
into thinking that it’s spring?
if we lie here together
on the same patch of earth
will our combined heat
wake crocuses, make snowdrops unfurl
shake Christmas roses awake
convinced that it’s spring?
if you make love to me, here, in the snow
will our bodies melt
enough of this tundra
that tulips and daffodils will race up
through the mud
open bright crowns to heraldan early arrival of spring? What If
if one of us was to move away, what would
happen to the other piece
of the puzzle that makes up our neighborhood, would
the people who move into your empty house
fit in as well with my own hopes and dreams? when that
day comes, when the moving trucks pull up to take
away every trace of you and your family, will I
be able to stand the empty look
of the windows of your housethat first night? Andromeda
They only ask girls to sacrifice themselves
only chain virgins to rocks. If they were to ask
a grown woman, worn down by children
already tiring of life, already used to settling for less
than the stuff of her dreams
it wouldn’t really be a sacrifice.
It would just be one more unpleasant chore
something to get through during the course of a day.
Monsters mean different things
to girls and women. For one
there’s the terrifying possibility of being devoured
physically or spiritually, the end of great plans
great dreams. For the other, the chance to meet a monster
is a break from monotony, the happy realization
that the unexpected does still exist outside
the four walls of a day.
About the author: Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota, since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Tampa Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle, and her published books include “Walking Twin Cities”, “Music Theory for Dummies”, and “Ugly Girl”.