Thirty Degrees Below Zero

I like the cold so brisk and fresh

it cuts through clothes

and crimps nose hair. I like

the winter mornings, dark at first

giving way to crystallized trees and pastel

sunrises. I like waking up

under six heaped blankets so deep I crawl out

of the mattress depression. The creep

of traffic and grumble of weather

is the Minnesota song. I feel the pinpricks

on my spine, the attention of every hair follicle

to tasteless air.

Holding on to morning in winter

with mittened hands, I like to greet

the day that steals

my breath.