Aurora Magazine 2008

Winter by: Sandra Hua

I can still remember your red coat in the coldest winter, Your hands held my hands and warmed mine. “A cup of hot coffee and a piece of black forest cake, please.” I said. I seemed to be a spoiled child to you.

Your face was pale, because you were cold. I hugged you, I would stay with you, promise.

You smiled, warmly, I gave you a cup of hot coffee, and a piece of black forest cake, You said thank you, But you didn’t eat them. I can still remember your red coat in the coldest winter, I was five, and you were sixty-five You smiled again, and hugged me tightly.

You promised me you would come back soon.

Is heaven the place that you won’t feel cold?

I can still remember your red coat in the coldest winter, And your warmest smile.

Memory by: Freda Rohrer

Lake Michigan at the edge of winter: I’m playing with my friend and her dog. My jeans are rolled up to my knees, And the water turns my legs pink and heavy. On the beach, there is no sand, only stones. I run my fingers through them, Getting grit under my fingernails As I search for fossils of ancient snails And stuff my pockets with green sea glass. We eat peanut butter sandwiches, Laugh, talk about nothing, And watch the wind push the waves up to our toes.

That was the last time I saw her.

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