Winter by Yasmina Jaksic

1. The ghost your hand leaves on the other side of the train window’s glass, the impression of warmth. You loved me like that, in the middle of the winter, just for a moment, I watched the ghost dissolve – now just a whisper – of a one-sided love that once was.
2. Nobody visits my great-grandmother anymore but I need the cash. Her blue eyes glaze over and she is consumed by the frost outside her window, by the frost inside her brain. She tells me to tell her the story about the man on the moon again, she tells me it’s the funniest thing she’s heard, she tells me that I will be a great storyteller one day, she still refuses to believe that it’s true.
3. Frost-bitten finger tips, blue lips, and tracks on tracks on tracks. The teenagers under the bridge again. He wears a lumberjack’s hat and sits on an abandoned couch, the red velvet cushions warm like the Christmases it once saw, with the pretty family that abandoned it, with the leftover love staining the seats so blood red even the cigarette burns can’t put it out. Now, there is no love, just the idle cigarette in his hand, the ember inching towards the snow-like skin, the train goes by and his arms they fill with tracks on tracks on tracks.
4. The boy I used to know cut his long baby blonde hair, his ocean eyes turned to ice, and he left with no goodbye. He said there was a war coming, his brother heard it in the wind, and he had no time for the way I thought about him, made him dizzy the way the snowflakes spin. And I loved him so, I loved him so, and his name was Winter.

 

Yasmina Jaksic is a poetess, novelist, and non-fiction writer from Toronto. Her work has won the Alice Munro Short Story Prize, the Walter Gordon Book Prize, the Judith Eve Gewurtz Poetry Prize, and the H.K. Girling Literature Prize. She has graduated from York University with a double major in Professional Writing and Creative Writing and is pursuing a Master of Arts in English.