Winter, two poems

Source

"very cold days"

when it is very cold
i go to see her
to check that she is not cold
even though she cannot be cold

i think my warmth
might make her warm
even though she cannot be warm

and this of course does not make sense
except to other mothers
who visit babies in graves 

on very cold days

winter, again
frozen in time,
frozen in the ground
her bare hands, uncovered
(my most grievous error)

the cold of knowing
startles me in the night
how could i have left her like that?!
(how could i have left her at all…)

and when the summer comes, relief —
i smile at her toes and fingers,
not suffocated by wool and warmth
(irrational, yes, but quite on the nose)

and it is like this every year
when the axis of earth dares change its mind,
and when the memories of past winters
turn to crystals in the air

What season is it where you are and how does that affect your grief? What season are you feeling?