The Blizzard

If you want to walk in a blizzard,
you’ve got to put your shoulders into it.
You’ve got to walk deliberately,
like you’re en route to the grave.
You’ve got to have a good jacket,
and good insulation underneath that.
Long johns, a toque, and mittens are a must,
but they’ll only take you so far.
It’ll do no good to wish it away, either.
You won’t defeat a blizzard.
The best you can do is wait it out
and wake up tomorrow, you,
the same shivering person.
You’ve got to embrace the sharp white.
You’ve got to get your head into the storm;
into its indifference.
When the wind rips your cheeks and you
can’t feel your fingertips
and your bones are creaking, you’re alive.
If your eyes aren’t frozen together,
and if your cheeks aren’t a June sunset,
you’re playing small.
If you still recognize yourself,
it’s either too warm or
you’ve gone off the drift.
Shivering won’t help you,
but your learned mettle might.
Deep down, you hoped this would happen.
The blizzard reminds you of the heart
buried in your chest – the one
that brought you into this.
The one that’ll carry you out.