Print by Currier & Ives
I flew home last Friday, the Midwest burying me under a well-meaning blanket of snow. As if all I needed was a cold kiss on the cheek. So far, it’s been endless tea, drenched socks, huddling in a coat that won’t zipper closed.
Sharing a bed with my sister is easier than I remember. She isn’t the same sheet-greedy kicker, unconsciously cruel, prone to snapping the covers off in one swift yank. She keeps still and we talk softly and keep warm and suddenly it’s morning.
My body is trying to tear itself to pieces. The cough started in Tennessee and followed me, reveling in weather that dips below zero. Agony’s spread from throat to ears to ungodly stuffed sinuses. My voice is gone. I’m here, sunk deep in the place and the people that demand it the most and what has it done? Wrestled open the ice-crusted window and flown away.