when the winter always came a surprise. I’d be sipping tea and see that snow was falling on the gardens, I’d be shoveling off the beds or lifting crusted soil, tucking in the garlic late. I’d be rescuing the houseplants long and leggy from the cold. I remember how it burned, my fingers stinging through the gloves, exactly how the hail would strike my skin. I remember turtling on black ice, helpless from my belly, knowing this was how it felt to age, wondering if anyone would find me when I froze
out the window
third week of the new year
dandelions bloom
has recent work appearing in the Mid-American Review, Ninth Letter, and Poet Lore. She is the author of Impossible Dovetail (IDES, Silver Birch Press), all those ragged scars (Choose the Sword Press), and Trees in Our Dooryards (Redbird Chapbooks). Sonja divides her time between work in Massachusetts and her home in the mountains of western Maine. You can follow her work at:
www.sonjajohanson.net
