[frost] e l l a
t h o m p s o n
she grew up with wrapping paper scattered around a messy room and trees like ghosts outside her window frost tinting their branches white, foreshadowing the snowy days that follow early december. she wore mittens in the cold months, though she hated them dearly, and tore them off with satisfaction when the neighborhood cats beckoned with fractured meows and soft fur. her mother, a kind woman, with brown hair, would join her on the stone steps that led up to their little blue house (with cracked, peeling paint) and would sit with her until the air became too fierce and turned their faces red like the cherry pie that they always had on christmas eve, the kind that was bought at the store and put on a crystal plate, because it tasted better that way. she was the type of girl who threw snowballs with a fury that seemed disproportionate 102
