Melting

I stand in the snow, holding more snow in my palm.  Touched by the air, the sun, and my own vital heat, it melts, transforming from white into a glittering translucence.  My life, my aliveness, transforms it.  I hold it up and try to look through, but it is too slippery to keep hold of.

*     *     *

I breathe.  Beneath me, the earth breathes a thousand thousand times more slowly.  I lose track of my hands, my cheek on the grass, where the skin of my belly separates me from her body.

*     *     *

I stand in the rain.  She whispers in my ear, “dissolve.” 

*     *     *

What in you melts?  What in you dissolves?  What in you transforms?

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About Sarah Twichell

Sarah Twichell is a witch, writer, foodie, musician, semi-competent knitter, aspiring runner, and all-around logistical wizard.


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