After the Snowstorm The snowman my neighbor built has melted, the weather tricks me with its sunshine and chill breeze, two squirrels play outside my window, they take turns in a dance like chase. I want to frolic outside in my pajamas, attend a concert with five hundred guests, engage political disagreements without violence. I want to hug my neighbors and my friends. I call my friend; his mother died from Covid, his pain is raw, his voice is trembling still. We chat about movies, books, our losses, the strength to shine when the world is frozen still. And as I wait my turn for the vaccine, pandemic winter melts into spring.
Yevgeniya Przhebelskaya has held a variety of paid and volunteer jobs in the education field, including teaching introductory college classes and facilitating poetry workshops. Yevgeniya’s poems have been published in Time of Singing, Page and Spine, First Literary Review-East, Ancient Paths, and other print and online publications, and were nominated for the Pushcart Prize two times. Check out more of her poems at ypoetry.weebly.com