January 10th

“January 10th”

I asked you why you weren’t afraid of death,
and you pressed your face against the cold, frosted window.
You showed me the splotchy face-print that you left behind
and told me that the the next time the window frosts over with cold,
you’ll reappear.

Like magic, I said.
Just like that.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deep.
You traced with your finger on the window.
A circle, then a heart, then a key, then a smile.
And you put each one inside the other like a Russian nesting doll.

You pushed away a hair that had fallen in your face.
And you told me the minimum necessary conditions for Lake Michigan to freeze over.

Then you took my hand and showed me forever with your fingertips.
Your faceprint frosted over with cold.