Nostrils carved of ice,
the breath slicing through tender lungs,
attacking the warm muscle.

My calves caught
in the maw of my jeans,
like a dogs rubber toy,
no wrenching
or twisting
able to free it;
two layers deep,
in a sandwich of warmth –
hastily readied for the journey,
a school far away at its end.

So I ran.
Slammed the door behind me,
landing on the snow,
not in.

Everything an autumn leaf isn’t,
but landing as they all the same.
I ran, holding my weight like a skirt,
caught in a room of carnivorous formality,
and the snow permitted me upon it.
Having had two days of blistering cold,
beneath bright clear skies.
It was kind and unforgiving.

That threat – I knew.
I ran, and thankfully
never broke through,
I was untouchable.