My Winter Garden
by Theodora Goss

This winter, I decided
to grow icicles. They bloom
in whorls and curls, intricate
shapes like seashells
or ice roses.

They glitter in the gray light
of winter like the spires
of the Snow Queen’s castle.
When I pick them
to put on my dining room table,
my fingers grow numb.

I bring them inside
and put them in the blue vase,
admiring their delicate beauty,
their iridescence, like memories
of flowers. But hours
later, when I walk once again
into the dining room,
they are gone.

I have only a vase
filled with water.

(The image is Winter Garden by Vincent Van Gogh.)