By Meghan Proulx
My cryo-coffin dad in his icy dwelling.
Frozen brain, cold body.
Long lost Papa, blind in the snowstorm.
Icicles dripping from longing eyes and nose
So far away. You’re freezing.
Lost in the glimmering ice palace.
Stuck and preserved forever like a beetle in glass.
But once you were next to me.
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Meghan is a freelance writer in Northern California. Her short stories have been published in Hobart, The Bold Italic, The Emerson Review, and more. She was ranked as a Top Humor Writer on Medium and won a Silver Anthem Award.