Glacial

for my cousin

Back then we were made more of clay than cotton,
those summers in the Dells, we were the lake-muck
that itched our legs like teak colored pantyhose.

We were told that glaciers had layered
the pale pinks into the gorges and I think
even then you were being formed by mountains of ice

by people with snowy bones and winter
so deep inside them that cold
colored and spilled onto everything they touched

and still worse, everything they didn’t touch.
They took turns hovering their mouths over yours
and pushing thick frost through your lungs.

You were smart to keep my bobby pins in your pockets,
my hair has finally frozen into my eyes
but I guess you knew that would happen.