to each their season

to each their season

A Poem by Reed Rickmers

The typical first impression,

that she was a walking cliche;

birthed from the lyrics of a butt-rock anthem;

she was conceived during a storm

as her parents fucked to Foreigners "Cold as Ice";

her tiny soul captured that rhythmical essence,

a vibration that followed her for the rest of her life…


At age 22, she stood 5'5";

many men, at the sight of her,

would feel alive and divine;

but as they approached their veins would freeze

as she told them that she was not born to please;

she had no care for fire, it was snow of which she dreamed;

that first step into the October Country…


She loved to read Ray Bradbury, 

but never discussed it with others;

and it's not that she never had lovers,

it's just that they always made her feel empty

so she always returned the favor;

consequently, she was often alone

so as to save herself the discomfort

of turning another lost soul out into the cold:

she did not envy them their frostbite…


You see…


…it's not that she didn't feel,

it's just that she was far more subtle 

than they could imagine…


They always pictured her standing in a puddle,

wet up to her thighs as she thawed under their passion;

in truth, she preferred a touch more similar to the wind;

a whispering caress, something you could never possess;

something that you would have no choice but to love and let go;

something more similar to herself…


Forever elusive, this ice princess refuses to dance to that music,

her loose lips sing to a different tune

as a two step shuffle brings the burning tap-dancer into the room:

his feet are on fire…


and as, for the first time in her life,

she thaws under the heat;

she thinks to herself:


there are no good questions, only bad answers.


But goddamn, the way that he moves!

almost as if the wind was lending its life to his fire;

it spreads and ignites, like a match to fuel;

she feel a burning sensation inside her breast

as she realizes, "oh, so this is desire…"

just as his shoes strike the final chord

and winter, as always, turns to spring

as wildflowers erupt from the floor.

© 2012 Reed Rickmers


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Added on December 1, 2012
Last Updated on December 1, 2012