When I was a child, alone in my room

with the fan on high, laying on my bed like a tomb

I’d close my eyes and imagine a place

where the snow covered every surface

and there was no heat to scorch my face

A world where tropical vines gave way to evergreen pines

and the angry words adults speak faded into winds over mountain peaks

where magic was real and feelings were safe to feel

where love was no political stance and strangers could be given a chance

and happy endings were never mere happenstance

Though it wasn’t reality, it felt more real to me

than history relayed in a Sunday pulpit speech

More real than traffic beeps or the teacher who once screeched

when my attention span was weak, preferring prose over parsing trees

and dreaming dreams adults do not deign to dream

I dreamed of a cold that seeped down to my bones

and froze out the demons buried deep in my soul

Eternal winter in my heart saved me from the start

from the dark and the flames planted there by the stars

and carried me out with fewer scars than friends who got less far

Still some days now when I want to cry

I go for a walk while the sun is high

and the air is moist and filled with flies

The sweat fills my shoes and my skin is aflame

but my sorrows are not felt when my body is in pain

And there’s no better cold than the one I design

in my mind in a heat index of 105