DESERT STORM

in creative writing

Today is the first day I am cold. Really cold. The down-to-my-bones cold that can’t be shaken off with a steamy shower or a trip to the tanning salon; where people bake slowly to a golden brown like the outside of a marshmallow over a campfire before it bursts into a flaming black ball.

The ache that invades my sleepless cells in the early hours as I watch infomercials about magic bullet blenders or neatly stacking food containers that can fit under the sink or in a drawer without making a mess or losing lids–If I call now I double my order for free.

The cold that hurts my lungs when I inhale during a Nor’easter while snow buries the cars to the roofs and makes pathways and stairs unidentifiable. The screen door with the lock that still isn’t fixed bangs against the door frame in time to the gale winds. And the mailbox gets knocked down by a city snow plow causing all the mail to fall out.

It is spring and nothing is in bloom. No marshmallows are burning, and I have a blender, and it’s raining again. Perhaps sleep will help to warm me or retail therapy. Or you coming home and bringing the hot desert storm with you.