white with a hint of lavender

By Lena Singh

My fear of snow was like someone else’s fear of darkness. I now find the snow to be a good subject for metaphors which I explore in this piece.

I glanced out of the splintered net of the door 
my toes curled at the breeze coming through the bottom gap
I had only a shawl wrapped around my now prickly shoulders 
the door begged for me to be merciful and close it
it creaked / sweat / slammed trying to reach me but failed
just like the admiration of the sun did against the need to freeze

the sky was white with a hint of lavender
I couldn’t tell if it was the snow that made it so 
or the delusion that the sky could be more than colorless
the cotton balls had barely started sticking to the ground
when the flakes touched my hair, my eye twitched
and I was gifted a shudder 

snow was so lifeless when I had the eyes of an infant
I was thrown into the avalanche by the weatherman
and a thump of the drop of my body was heard
they couldn’t see that I couldn't breathe
that the snow was forcing itself into my little crevices
and filling me up with more water than I needed
“you shall not be afraid,” the weatherman whispered

after a few years passed
drowning in snow instead started to feel like
little patches of sugar, so sweet to inhale 
rather than like tiny crystals that impaled your heart
but then I was given rise by the weatherman 
“you’re finally ready,” the weatherman whispered

the snow suddenly didn’t feel shattering, the sky wasn’t gray anymore
no, it was chalky with a hint of lavender
so much so that I leaned on the corner behind the door
listening to the distant piano keys in my ear
all for a weather so predetermined 
but unexpectedly ethereal

and I didn’t close my eyes when I wished
the weatherman would pluck my teenage body
and throw me back in the white again
rebirth

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Process

In January, Staten Island had its first full snow day, which became my inspiration for this poem. When I was little, I never enjoyed the snow. I’d go out to clean my parent’s car or take photos, but I thought it was cold and dirty. I just wanted to stay inside. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to appreciate the rain and snow. They’ve gotten more beautiful in my eyes and it’s something I can’t let go of. I like to remain in the cold. It gives me a sense of awareness over my body. It reminds me that I exist. The image of me standing in front of the door, watching the snow—where the piece begins—was real, but I created the weatherman to represent the fear of the snow I’d once had and the delusion that snow wasn’t graceful. It added to the sense of rebirth. In writing this piece, I realized that sometimes all you need is a simple, common night to spin a poem.

Lena Singh

Lena is a junior in high school and she lives in Staten Island with her family and little dog named Oreo. In her free time, she’s either in her bed with a good fantasy novel or walking in the rain with her flip flops. A straightforward character that never backs down from an argument, she’s an introverted jalapeno that’s rare to find. Approach her if you dare.