“It’s best if it’s snowing” by Sydney Haas

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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)

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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.