Jacket 18 - Julia Williams: Two poems

hypothermic states

defense: casing against pain

barometric wind is high
hood is proven/proof of ears

weather makes tracks
weather scores vessels in my cheeks
makes a vessel for fingers

strings link mittens through sleeves
(an arm around the shoulder blade)

pocket the odd mitt
out of my clutch
seal out a lack of fifty degrees
comfort is comfort is

precipitous
a hood is an almanac

disorientation: surrendering the shell

end a breathline
it shows in steam
we pretend to smoke twigs

condensation he says and rolls over
press our backs together
he precipitates
oh our misty bodies
seam sealed
our spines knit

resignation: the final phase of freezing

i have a headache he said it feels like a chinook. in bed he says oh you’re cold.

hunch shoulders when exiting. the first breath won’t hurt.

two hours from city limits we find deep snow, two hands deep. snow that glows white hot. snow you can sleep in. snow you can zip up to your knees.

rain in December, grilled cheese and groceries. brings the metal smell out of my duffel coat.

gauge his breath. storm fronts and chinooks. he says oh your cheeks are crimson, your lips are like ice. my skin under here, thermal, crystalized.

Julia Williams is a Calgarian poet whose work has appeared in dANDelion, Queen St. Quarterly, (orange), and This magazine. She is also an arts writer for FFWD weekly, and former fiction editor of fillingStation magazine.