Hello readers! Every week, BOA's staff and interns share one of our favorite poems from our over 300 collections of poetry. This week's poem is from The Moon Makes Its Own Plea by Wendy Mnookin.

The Shortest Day of the Year

Our doors blocked by a blizzard
the two of us climbed from a window
into a world made new—

mailboxes buried, signs disappeared.
we walked on the tops of bushes,
dug until we found our car.

And dug some more.
We cleared the hood,
unburdened the windshield.

tunneled all the way to the tires.
Then what?
The roads were closed,

there was nowhere to go.
Sweating inside our layers,
we let ourselves fall

back into drift.
We had no ambition.
For minutes, or a year,

it was enough to lie there,
stunned with sun, with implacable white.
Our eyes glazed.

The frost of our breath happened.
And then we stood, clapping
our jackets free of snow,

suddenly shy
to see the imprint of wings,
so slight, it's a wonder.

we trusted ourselves at all.