The Ivory Queen

Winter, the ivory queen, is majestic but vulnerable

She  bleeds bare trees that stand firm

Houses caked in white crystals declare the works of  her hands

Her strength  forces  people to retreat into their coats and zippers

They are afraid to face her missiles unarmed

She is soft

Those sharp crystals  become like feather beds

Softened by the shrills of frolicking children in the snow

Her steel frame becomes malleable

When wrapped in the warmth of piping hot cocoa

Pressed against  shivering lips

She is made beautiful against the backdrop of  blazing firewood and warming palms

Her long hair  stretches across  fair skies  

Her tears are not always translucent,

They are  stained with gravel, dirt,  pain

Deformed with the imprint of artificial angels and sign posts

In these moments she cannot fight back

For the  covered back of the squalling child subdues the cold

Winter is both strong and soft

Tamed and untamed

 Her purpose lies in the penguins who depend on her for life

The smiles of faces who anticipate her white world

Though she wears an intimidating mask

Beneath , lies a heart, a white-washed canvas,

To be  manipulated, enjoyed, and admired

Until  time descends on her like a dove

Her season is over

Then she flees

Only to return again

Strong, fierce,  but beautiful