There was snowfall for the first time
but this was not snow

There is a rumor—running joke—fable:
the children here do not know
of snow for they so rarely
know the rain

This is not snow. It is ash

I cannot see the sun
for weeks. Those with heat cannot turn it on
lungs and internal heating systems
filled with soot

October should be the hottest month
instead all I remember is being
cold: wearing jackets
in the house, cold

to be a silent-film star under sepia skies
to be a vampire searching
for a reflection on the concrete
a proof you’re still
living when the world denied us a spotlight
when ambience is so calm it’s oppressing

you know it shouldn’t be this quiet
at noon
walking home from school canceled
for an indeterminate number of
breaths

All I remember is
the smell
Even after a
mask
scarf
breath saved from unsaid words
and collar
You can smell the haunting not-campfire
the ghost of it sticks around

on your clothes
on months
on years
who fade into just
tensed nerves at the sound of
hot winds and barbecues
heightened heartbeats for
every fire after

when I feel that
poltergeist in the air
All I remember is

bleak: eerie graphite
skies without a single
shadow on the ground