my wisconsin toes barefoot in january:
the snow shedding tears, but sparkling.
trickling streams divide houses –
a puddle slumbers atop asphalt, rain
pellets sprinkle divots, and padded
rodent paws scamper across grass.
the wind’s rasping breath blows
my hair and the strands melt
into my face in spidering lines.
even the shingles drip and i am dizzy.
leaning on my house, i leave a hand
print in the brick – soon, a fossil –
roofs become sinkholes,
collapsing into living rooms
intruding into basements.
shingles – black, blue, and slippery
again – convince ravens to swoop
over houses and disappear as they dip.
i step into what’s left of the snow and my toes go numb.
Kaitlyn Von Behren is an eighteen-year-old poet from Wisconsin. Her poetry has been honored by Teen Ink, the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and Button Poetry. When not writing, she can often be found talking politics, annoying her cat, and eating sushi.