Winterscape has to be escaped
or else my mind will harden,
a forgotten potato on the balcony
in January. I need something familiar
the texture of a lemoncito globe, the smell
of freshly uprooted tanglad or a banana shrub.
I packed Cebu found in La Palma
and brought it to Munich
with the confidence of a farmer’s daughter
who never experienced planting, growing
these live in her life. Outside,
millions of white flakes slice through
the air like mealybugs diving down,
pooling, swarming on the ground.
But we’re warm indoors. There, a sign
of life is pushing through the potted earth,
a little leaf unfurling, cocooned
from the raging white terrors outside.