This Winter Is Our Last


Amelia Spielman ‘24


You reek of scraps I threw out exactly 94 days ago.

The rotting smell of everything once loved stalks you, a shadow not properly disposed of

Your tears are caked upon flesh that isn’t yours,

Flesh that looks like mine.

Winter falls with the blood of snow and the seeds you planted seasons ago have yet to bloom into the mental redesign you once wished for

The ice is white-hot and scalding to touch and your skin is etched into the pattern I last tread into the ground

Our arms chafe as we claw at each other, desperate to reset the imbalance of power that granted our damning conclusion so many months ago

Two bodies fallen in the snow, purple all over, skin blue from the snow, stained in forgotten pastimes

Memories littered on the treeline where a curious rabbit sniffs at the footprints in the snow, unaware and oblivious to the looming owl overhead

The forest has stirred from the scuffle of past and future and everything bitter inbetween

This is our final symphony, the clash of an imperfect cadenza willing everyone who heard the very first notes to turn back time and speak a warning of what was to come

Let’s lie here together until our decaying bodies can rest with the starting sunbeams of the year and the first blooms of spring.

Only then can forgiveness begin to root itself deep in the earth beneath our feet