First Snow - Ezra Blaize


All black, sitting. Every twelve
seconds or so--glanced. The wind
had its way with you earlier. I saw.

I saw you leak out of a doorway
with the cigarette you lit in the
stairwell, look once back, look

forward, turn out and leave. I
saw you check your phone. Nothing.
He's here, you know. You know.

A nod and nothing more. And you
hope he will see you sitting. He
is in the kitchen with a dull girl

shackled in his thin arm. She smiles
at something someone says, empty.
All black. The snow is coming down

like tiny decisions. Choose one.
How does it jell? You end up white and
raw and bleak-faced walking home

eventually. I think about sitting down
and asking about your name. Your
purpose, too. She works so hard,

you know? Research and a nine
to fiveā€¦!
His words, not mine. And
the empyrean snow comes down like all

the decisions you could not once make.
Oyster-gray wind rushes over voided
outland. It will have you, eventually. All black.


Ezra Blaize is an avid writer who completed his undergraduate work in English and Education at Flagler College in St. Augustine, FL. He is currently working towards his PhD in the Curriculum and Instruction Department at UW-Madison.