A Winter’s Night EL AINA RIDDELL
There is something magical about opening a door and entering a winter’s night. The cold is such a shock that it slaps me in the face. Each inhale feels as if someone is scrubbing my respiratory system clean with steel wool. I like the way it scratches. Each exhale puffs out little clouds of carbon dioxide and I feel cool like a kid smoking a stolen cig, who can blow out the smoke without coughing. I smile to myself, pulling at the chapped skin on my lips and splitting the smile that splits my face. I wander deeper into the nocturnal wonderland, closer towards the city’s nightlights I can feel the worn treads of my sneakers scrape against the frozen cobblestone. I had always been told that it is smart to bundle up but I just want to feel the cold air against my skin. I trudge through the snow, soak my shoes, and make a swamp out of my soul. The night steals the heat from my hands and makes their skin shrivel. But I do not mind sharing. At first glance, the path in front of me is a flatline. But I stumble and trip, heartbeat skips, then pick back up again. Bits and pieces of the world are poking through but all the harshness of the day is softened by navy and black shadows. Maybe the fact that I can’t see is what makes these nights more special to me. I am on the top floor of an empty parking deck. The sky is a jewelry store and the stars are the diamonds. I am the poor woman outside the window, desperately wanting to be let in close enough to admire the beauty but never allowed to touch. The world is a stadium, the sky is the seats, everyone in the audience has their lighters out, and I am on the stage. I can feel thousands of tiny eyes looking down at me. I want to get closer to them, become a part of them, crowd surf. The sky is a sea full of stars and the roads below me are rivers of cars that sparkle, too, but in a more mechanical way.
MOON FISH K ARLY ANDERSEN
30 pwatem
Poictesme Spring 2019a.indd 30
4/1/19 5:14 PM