“It’s best if it’s snowing” by Sydney Haas
which is rare here, in the city of greys
that are far too cold but never cold enough-
but every now and then, you’ll wake
to soundless streets caked in white
and when you do, take 11th up to E Thomas Street
and you’ll find the garden. Once, on a night
I didn’t sleep, I watched winter’s only snow
descend, and when the sky was light, I pocketed
my hurt and gloved my hands, took my tired
out the building, wandered North until I found it
for the first time. Breathtaking to see the roses
bend their spines under the heavy white, red peers
out like the city is blushing warmth into
fatigued February, thorns hidden, softened
by these flakes of peace. Wrought iron gates
frame this fleeting reprieve, propped an inch
as if to whisper a dare, sing an invitation
before your eyes and so you will step your
weathered boots into the newborn powder,
a temporary imprint, the garden is meant to be loved
in secret.
(If you love it when it’s snowing, it cannot bite
in the warmest months. Next year, you can take
a new love to the garden on Thomas Street, and a woman
will be trimming down the excess, gift you both
a pocketful of rosemary, beg you not to let it
go to waste)
Sydney Haas (she/they) is a writer and theatre artist based in Seattle, Washington. They are a cancer sun and moon and spend as much time as possible next to a body of water or behind an espresso machine. She recently graduated from Seattle University with a degree in English and Theatre, and is excited to carry her passions forth into the world.