Big brother, magic isn’t gone yet.
This nihilistic ice castle will not keep me out.
Snowflakes are still perfectly made,
no matter how you explain their fractals.
As you shove stones across the floor, leaving glacial cuts
across marble, all in the name of isolation,
know the shape of your face is in every poem I write.
Though the crow is dead now and the flowers disappeared
with the witch, but you’re here, alive in every gesture
I stole, every phrase kept warm in my mouth.
For all your cool calculations, you won’t find
all the fingerprints left in your wake. Stop your scratching,
you signature is scattered past the Ice Queen.
We found you in your winter sleigh. Come in
out of the snow. Take my boots, my gloves,
whatever you need to get warm.
Kaela Martin is a recent graduate of Stephen F. Austin State University, exiting with a creative writing degree and a love of fairy tales. Her work has appeared in Thin Air Magazine, Catfish Creek, THAT Literary Review, On the Veranda, and several other literary journals.
Artwork: Brooke Shaden, the protector of magic