Polar Vortex
A Poem by Kimberly Ellingson
Polar Vortex
The cold snap coincided with my ending
things in a text message. Inside all week,
listening to the relentless drip from
the antique, near-frozen pipes, I felt
like a modern pioneer woman;
internet but no hot water, unreliable heat.
Conference calls on the living room rug swathed
in a sapphire blanket crocheted by my gone
grandmother, nights curled into the deceptive
envelope of the space heater.
Alone, yet I needed to wash my hair—
On day three, I filled a pot with distilled water
from a plastic jug, stood on a sheet of ice in the bath
and emptied a frigid river over my head.
Kim Ellingson holds an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Cagibi, Lost Balloon, Pile Press, and elsewhere. Additionally, her work has been nominated for various awards, including Best Microfiction and a Pushcart Prize. She lives in Milwaukee with her husband and their dog. You can find her on Instagram at @its.kim.ellingson.
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Stunning layering of physical and emotional coldness. The grandmother's sapphire blanket detail hits particularly hard because it represents inherited warmth in a moment of total isolation. I went through a similar winter breakup a few years ago and the way mundane survival tasks become these huge symbolic gestures is so accurate. The image of standing on ice to pour cold water over your head is visceral enuff that I felt it. Modern pioneer woman is the perfect desctiption.