Snow
snow
snow
snow
snow
snow
snow
snow
snow
snow
snow
snow snow snow
snow snow snow snow
snow snow snow snow snow
snow snow snow snow snow snow
snow snow snow car snow snow snow
.
.
.
(It just occurred to me, that I don’t remember if I put a brush in my car yet this year. Fingers crossed! ’cause there’s a lot of snow falling outside my window!)
The fog is thick today
both hovering over the lake
and in my head,
rendering me slow-witted,
dull,
fatigued.
Does the lake feel the same?
The lake is there,
just over the hill. Our view is
stolen by lilacs.
View from our living room window. In the winter, we can see the lake. Just barely. Darn lilacs.
What invisible edge
slit skin on finger tip,
inserted pain into this day?
Blood dripped.
Every typed word
reminds me
danger lurks everywhere.
I face the consequences
alone.
One
.
tiny
.
perfect
.
snowflake
.
falls
.
through
.
empty
.
sky.
.
Intrepid?
.
or harbinger?
He, loved filled,
would be caught weeping.
The first time,
graduation.
The second,
over broken relations,
feeling her pain, worried
she’d be okay.
Later,
from loneliness,
from frustrated, infirmity,
he would weep, “Please come!”
I’d wrap my arms around him,
sit beside him,
share those moments of fragility,
so thankful for love,
so thankful for him.
She’s never shown a tear.
Year after year,
muttering,
grumbling,
no personal responsibility,
dark heart.
Her rages
call for no sympathy.
At least,
from me.
She used to see him everywhere
He wove into every conversation
‘All roads lead to…’ they joked
Now the roads go new places
Wind through wishful thinking,
blissful realities
settle comfortably in what is
for what it’s worth.
She is gone
traditions will be different in her absence
I am a poor substitute.
May our Christmas cookies
and your memories
be sweet.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Last night
you didn’t come as your youthful self,
my fun, faithful friend.
Instead, bald, broad, and bellied you asked,
your hard question against my thigh:
Why not?
Respect, I said,
Squeamish at your leer.
You lowered your voice to that super serious tone
I remember so well.
Really?
So much doubt.
Yes.
Really.
Even in my dreams I’m over this.
Tight black ball
warm, curled against my hip
tail twitching in dreams.
Serious affection or just fluff?
It’s all the same to me.
Shawn L. Bird 