"Washington shivers, Moscow laughs"

We bundle, making sure all exposed skin is covered,
as not to entice a bite from February’s icy jaw.
We wear our scarves like dust masks—
as though this is some nuclear winter,
but it’s hardly a cold war out there.
Across the sea—more than well-practiced in the art
of surviving the cold—Russia scoffs.
“America is resilient, until it snows.”
And as I hopelessly try to shovel myself out of winter,
I wonder what life would be like if it
only consisted of springs and autumns.
I hallucinate a bird singing, only for it to be replaced
with the overwhelming silence of falling snow,
and as much as I miss the lilacs and the magnolias—
I would miss this serenity even more.