Our First Winter

by Sarah Carleton

My freebie boots were two sizes too big,

my frozen fingernails curled



within fists within porous mittens.

Branches shook flakes onto our knit hats,



which sucked in the moisture and siphoned it to our roots.

The sun blazed in a clear sky but melted nothing.



We crunched through snow-sodden woods and emerged

on a hilltop glittering with iced-over weeds—



a summit of swizzle sticks.

Surely, I longed for steeping tea back at the trailer



and pottery hot between my palms.

Surely, my socks were too thin and my toes tight with cold,



but this memory is not bitter. All through our marriage,

the field we climbed tinks like a wind chime and then grows quiet.