The Hand/Logan Stefl

I can still feel the winter breeze on my cheeks. 
Even though I was bundled from head to toe, 
The pervasive cold on my face prevented me 
From feeling an ounce of warmth in my little body. 

I walked into the ice shack with my dad and brother, 
And some other who’s since faded from memory. 
Though shivering still, I could feel the furnace 
Working its magic. Slowly I thawed, a wonderful 

Thought in the middle of a frozen lake. 
Layers came off 
And soon enough I was hot. 
The others went to check on tip-ups 

But I hadn’t had enough of the warmth. 
I still can’t quite understand 
How it happened, but my 
bare hand landed on the furnace, spreading 

A fire throughout the whole of my arm: 
In that moment all that existed was pain, as I screamed and 
The others came running back. 
And then my hand was buried in a bag of ice. 

And then I was in the back of the truck. 
And then I was home, 
Crying for different reasons. 
I never knew that the people who raised you 

Could turn on each other, 
And throughout the course of my life, 
I never thought of divorce more 
Than when my hand was 

Buried in a bag of ice.

---

Logan Stefl‘s poem won 2nd place in our 2022 Literary Awards. Logan graduated from St. Norbert in 2022, majoring in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing and minoring in Communication Studies. He enjoys reading and writing, along with playing guitar and drawing. He currently resides in his hometown of Shawano, Wisconsin.