They Found Her When The Snow Melted Poem by Cat Singh

As if the world were a shaker of ice
(tossed in the air and caught again) ,
it was cold outside last night,
the edges of everything just a bit more
frigid and crisp than usual.
I sat leaned against a tree
on a crunchy floor of leaves, waiting
to fall asleep and hoping not to wake up again.
I read a webcomic once
about a girl who would sleep in the woods
in the Canadian winters
and wish on stars that maybe she'd die.
It never worked, however hard she hoped,
but it could have (and "could have"
is the hope I hold onto) .

When I was a kid, I used to go all winter
never wearing a heavy coat
because I heard that shivering burned calories.
I waited for the bus one snowy morning
until my nose stung and my fingers dripped
imaginary blood and my body felt full
(of helium or something) and floated
a few feet ahead of me.
I marched back inside like a penguin to sea,
and my mom made me tea, scolded me,
and placed mittens on the blushed numb hands
(that could have been anyone's
now that they were not mine) .

There was a girl at my high school
who supposedly froze to death.
They say she was intoxicated and laid down
on the ground for just a small minute.
They say they only found her
when the snow melted.
Her hands must have curled up
like little white snowballs,
so she couldn't claim them anymore.

If I froze to death last night—
If I had shifted (foot after hesitant foot)
a little bit higher than my body lay—
If my fingers had hardened around
the leaves on the ground—
Would my mom still slide mittens onto my hands
and wish on all the dead stars?
Could she warm me up
even the smallest bit?