i am sitting under blue lights shaped like snowflakes

but the snow has not touched this place in years,

i have not touched the snow since I was a child-

driving away from the only home I had ever known

to fly across the country to a place where it can’t follow me

(it doesn’t snow here)

the lights strobe a heartbeat

on, off, on, off, on, off

flashing silently in the living room

with no one but a cat and the stars to see them

on, off, on, off, on, off

(i am an intruder in this new home)

i have been here 9 years

i have been here 9 years and I still remember the snow outside the car window

i have been here 9 years and I still remember the j-shape of the driveway

i have been here 9 years and I still remember the shadow cast by the swings in the backyard

(i have been here 9 years)

the truth is it didn’t snow the night we left.

but it snowed the winter before, I think that’s what I remember

snow and the yellow-gold-white of the chandelier in the hotel

the red of the gilded carpet in the halls then and the red of the wall behind the piano now

the blue-black-blue of the string of snowflake lights in the living room

i was alive then and I am still alive now

(i was a child then and i am not a child now)

i have been here 9 years

and i am remembering

i will not return to the snow-

but i will keep it alive in my mind

unmelted

(frozen in the light of plastic snowflakes)

(apricity [n.]- the warmth of the sun in winter)