THE FIRST TIME I SAW SNOW By Bojana Stojcic

THE FIRST TIME I SAW SNOW

the first time i saw snow
the white curtain hung down at the window of
my dead sister’s room and i stood there behind
the glass door, ears perked up and pointing to the
sky, and listened to that unearthly sound, and it was
then i realized silence had a sound, i understood
that sound in my dead sister’s room which my parents
kept exactly as she left it, funky pens, pencil
sharpeners and coloring books on her desk, her
snow white costume and folded pjs on the bed, her
fluffy pink coat hanging in the closet, silent, untouched.
it was as if time had frozen inside, and i thought long
if i touched some of her belongings, the clocks would
magically start ticking again and she’d come back
to us warm and soft, and smile when i find her
hiding place. how did you do that, she’ll ask.
i’m invisible. magic, I’ll say, then we’ll play some
more. my mother’s eyes were hoarse, my father’s
voice colorless the day i first saw snow and i
couldn’t help but wonder how they fit her bones
in the little vase on the mantelpiece and if she could
hear that low pitched roar above the fire too.
when i first saw snow, i stepped outside and held up
my hand to catch a piece of that silence, to hold
it, to keep it, to never let go.
the last time i saw snow, i was falling down
to the ground with it.

By Bojana Stojcic

Biography:

Bojana Stojcic is a teacher and writer from Serbia, living in Germany. Her work has been published in many online and print journals and anthologies. She knows snowflakes are kisses from heaven, and is currently working on a collection of short fiction/prose poetry.

16 thoughts on “THE FIRST TIME I SAW SNOW By Bojana Stojcic

  1. Oh Bo, this is beautifully written and painfully sad. I agree with Chris’ comment, too, with how we make connections between something and an an event, whether it’s a piece of music or snowflakes, forever etched in our muscle memory to trigger the thoughts and feelings at that time in history. I also like how you’ve contrasted such light, delicateness (ie. snowflakes) with death and bones on a mantlepiece. It makes it all the more hauntingly sad. Very gracefully written.
    Caz xx

    Liked by 1 person

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