you cannot hear the snowflakes melting.
summer ceases gleaming and the fruits pass their primes
so i too throw on my sweatshirt–the one with the color of winter–and walk down
the path covered in poplars
let’s go Home. let’s go Home. let’s go Home.
your voice extends into leaves, into roots under my feet, into stars in the night sky
i feel your voice brush against my hair and i wonder
if one strand of your hair still stands up like the time you forgot
to apply your strawberry-scent gel
somewhere in the distance barks a husky – a lost and confused whimper
but the sled already slides down the hill and the shadows of parkas disappear out of sight
i stroke its fur, whispering the words you said once
“it’s okay. i promise you we will be Home soon.”
then i scoop it up, like the time when you thrust me to the safe side
i go to the grocery store and buy some red tea and a bone
i name the husky “Kiñuniq” and feed it
you then, will hear me whisper
Grace Chang is a junior in Saint Viator High School. Her work focuses on geographical estrangement, memories, and various emotions associated with nostalgia.