when I close my eyes,

the winter turns to glass around me,

every flake of snow a crystal



I like to imagine walking out into it,

razor-sharp crisps catching in my hair,

trailing finely down

my cheeks.


in that frozen snow, we would make

the world’s best promises,

the soul’s most profound truths (for

every inhale would be a danger)


and, lying on our backs, our

faces to the stars,

the world’s bloodiest

snow angels.

C.A. Allen was born in Tallahassee, Florida and moved to Connecticut around age 8. She got her BA in Creative Writing at Albertus Magnus College, during which time she was published in three issues of Breakwater, Albertus’s literary magazine. She currently works full time as a barista in addition to writing. She enjoys humid, thunderstormy weather, owns a very old and chunky corgi, and once she ate some very bad cantaloupe, which she does not recommend. C is also the author of four fantasy novels, A Dewdrop Away and the Dewdrop Prequel Trilogy, all of which can be found on

I’ve always hated winter, mainly because seasonal depression tends to hit me pretty hard. Everything about the season is cruel to me, so my poetry revolving around winter is often either sad or cruel or both. When I wrote “Glass,” I was thinking back to when as a kid and still loved the snow. I’d go out back of my house and build snowmen or make snow angels. I don’t know what prompted the image of snow as shards of glass (aside from the obvious metaphor- the cold does cut like it has sharpened edges, brrr...!) but it really worked in building the nostalgic, painful yet strangely innocent world in the poem.




Copyright 2009