Breadcrumb #283
HILARY MARIE SCHEPPERS
Before the sun turned over
on winter’s soft heaps, you heaved
the door open
and packed white down with each step;
the wind blew
your chin to your chest,
your eyes to your boots,
and then you were
on the ground.
A metal post before you,
a splitting pang on your face, your back
on the ice, cold flurries prickled in-
side of your waistband
and you became your fourteen year old self
who didn’t know
the weight of her body
in his hands.