Snowmelt

Mountain peaks speak
curling tendrils of fog and
laughing down the avalanche
under a cold sun sloping across the Meridian,
the Boise, and the Caldwell’s
quicksand sky—

Towers of sand, perhaps
pillars of salt stand
quietly near the small town’s
moonlamp glow, still
defiant under streetside snow—

And earthworms mourn
in the heart of darkness
under smooth rocks,
no foothold, just gold
nuggets at an icy bus stop-side
McDonald’s, a meal fit
for starving kings breathing steam and
wearing garbage bag capes
once filled with Tulsan
Christmas gifts—

Until the snowmelt begins:
thoughts and steps stir again and
“Even if God doesn’t exist,
I like him” melts in with my ice cream,
and the voices I have known
transmigrate from bodies millions of miles away,
and the world feels immense—

They are me and they are on all sides, all edges.
The spring bloom follows winter’s fading steps
and I sit patiently, the world in me
thawing.

"I choose words but hope my poems leave the reader with fresh images. Jessica Mehta's "Jackson Street" has inspired me in this pursuit with its rich, tangible detail."


Elisaveta Bozmarova is a Bulgarian-American poet and memoirist. She is working an MFA in Creative Nonfiction at Goucher College. Her work appears or is forthcoming in FlyPaper Magazine, Timber Journal and Cal Literary Arts Magazine. For super-spiritual photos of flowers in the Bay Area, follow her on Instagram @ellieboz.