In the cold

The street is a mirror nobody asked for, black glass underfoot in this cold
Each step becomes a negotiation with gravity, with your own soul in this cold

The weather says stay home, as if home is a guaranteed thing in this cold
As if every door opens from the inside, as if every lock is kind in this cold

Power lines bow, tired shoulders taking on more than they can hold in this cold
Trees glitter, warnings dressed up as beauty, then break—unscrolled in this cold

ICE is a word that wants to be weather, unavoidable, clean in this cold
But it has hands and engines and choices, badge-bright and scripted in this cold

A candle on the counter makes a small sun that won’t last in this cold
A phone in your palm makes a small eye that records, then blinks out in this cold

No camera on the chest—only the shaking witness you can afford in this cold
The truth loads in a spinning circle, buffering like mercy in this cold

A name hits the feed, then disappears beneath arguments and ads in this cold
Commenl like sleet—sharp, quick, sure of themselves, glad in this cold

Someone scrapes a windshield with a key, a card, a thumbnail in this cold
Someone rehearses a sentence in English like it’s armor, fragile in this cold

A knock is just a knock until it isn’t—until it changes the air in this cold
Until every sound in the hallway becomes a verdict you can’t prepare in this cold

You learn to keep your hands steady, slow your breath, soften your voice in this cold
You learn how survival edits the body, how it narrows your choice in this cold

But a neighbor shares a cord across yards like a bridge made of light in this cold
And for a moment the world remembers: warmth is also a right

Two kinds of ice want the same thing—your quiet, your numb in this cold
So let your heat be stubborn: say the names, hold the line, don’t become the cold the title is In the cold