Cold Front Showdown

by Raven Tolliver


Criminally combative as a warm front in January,
I skeptically resist your optimism
like daisies defying winter, daring to bloom.
You want to quell it without the quarrel, snip the heads off my daisies—
stop them from spreading their petals, stop me from opening my mouth.

Preferring the cool calm of the wintry silent night,
you create a wind chill with a standstill.
Your goal’s to choke out the cold by withholding opinions.
Little do you know, you’re blowing smoke.
I criticize and question the cold,
finding downfalls and logic holes.
You simply agree to keep the peace,
embracing wishful thinking and false beliefs.

You want me to roll with your cold and hide in the ice,
smother my sprouting opinions like they’re snowflake fluffy and little lie white.
I won’t agree. I don't cling and follow
like the showers of powdery crystals you religiously admire.
Let it frustrate you, like squirrels’ chitter-chatter and crickets’ chirp-chirp,
piercing your wishful winter quiet.

I'm pushing my daisies through the ice. Their roots run soul deep,
wrapping around solid foundations. You can't pick these.
They hold more weight and warrant than your silent night lightness,
sliced by the white hot knife of my warm front.