climate euphoria

I dreamt once of a brown winter; 

which is all that I’d typically known 

growing up in Mississippi always 

once or twice three inches of snow 

here and there, but always a muddy field

and dead grass with glistening red clay. 

Always green long-leaf pines. 

Geometric rows of pine trees,

a grid forest with a needle floor

always seemed like a room of doors. 

The trees seemed so holy to me as a child 

before I slowly learned they were planted 

there just to be cut down and sold. 

I dreamt of a Mississippi winter without snow,

 woke up to something warmer farther away

where once I learned winter actually was now 

a muddy field that I have known.