it’s not snowing, nevermind

i did not understand the desire for rescue
but, I sure craved it
i studied snow tracks so close I forgot
just how cold the frost bit

barely knee-high by the Fourth of July
but I knew of third degree burns
waited long enough, turned the key in the cuff
and ancestral trauma returned

aren’t there Saint Bernards with barrels of whiskey tied ‘round their throats sent for travelers, lost?

aren't there fairy godmothers, serendipity, and chivalrous romances waiting til stars become crossed?

i collect other’s pain like collectible cards,
restore masterpieces like artists
but finding my path in the snow-covered tracks
feels like it is always the hardest

i wished each day that I was a child
to be whisked away, to be taken
by wind, by him, no fear or sin
just gone before they are waking

i’m Glinda the Good Witch, I’m Robin Hood
your favorite archetype for kind
i’ll do good—it’s karma, and I don’t want drama
but it hurts to repeat “Nevermind.”