Thirty degrees Fahrenheit
under freezing —and falling.
Dress accordingly,
I counsel.
Mom, Ugh! That only means they
won’t let us out at lunch
So I don’t need a coat!
She counters.
Seventh grade and
facts are farce.
Fashion over
function, forever.
In lieu of loathsome outerwear
she slips on an indignant eye roll
drapes herself in a chill of blue skin and
ventures out on foot.
Bare ankles glow as they
bob up and down in the dark, away from me.
An exposed shoulder shines like a beacon
though it fades to grey as distance grows.
Summoning greater forces
from peach-flushed forest horizon
Under breath
I invoke skyward:
May her righteousness keep her warm
Might her indignation be a hearth.
