Up in the Air?

Is my body a temple or a graveyard?

The more my skin begins to feel like the warm home my parents knew,

the colder the world around me seems to get.

I’m slowly learning to hug myself to keep the frost out.

But, naturally, some winters are harder than others.

It’s as if the sun and my skin are lovers caught in an endless dance,

going round,

and round,

and round.

Until the first blood spotted leaf falls to the ground,

and we feel a frigid cold hanging in the space between us.

Atlanna (Georgia, 2019)