we forget the creek

until one day

it takes out the bridge

listening

for the grumbling of robins —

another false spring

freshly ground snow

scudding over the road —

wind made visible

the weekly phone call —

sisters weaving a braid

of their children’s stories

what we know of hope —

my father brings home a boat

from the junkyard

thick unyielding ice

letters returned unopened

layers upon layers

we wore our old boots —

the half-wild barn kittens

an elusive treasure

losing their heads

in a long day of rain —

neighborhood snowmen

deep, drifted snow —

our backyard table linen

now at its finest

bitter scent of skunk —

some day I too will amble

into my last night

under all the ice

the thin determined trickle

of clear meltwater

at Christmastime

our boy asked for a new bike —

he wanted summer

for herself

the Earth goes to full sparkle

no tip jar in sight

the moon disappears

behind light-dimming clouds —

she takes off her ring

notes in the margins

of the book you were reading —

the last word

old photos

in a drawer that won’t open —

our broken promises

aging parents —

I chase the curve of the world

as it falls away

midwinter cold —

even the sound of the bell

seems frozen

savoring sweetness —

he wants to teach me about

pomegranate seeds

still hearing

the sound of a snapped trunk

and then the fierce bounce

long-awaited spring —

he comes out to his mother

without planning to


(for B.)

standing

for just a second or so

on top of the snow

black pencil points

birds choosing where to fly next

not yet words

deep snow

no sign of the familiar world

the days leave no track

still playable

even with that broken string —

his old banjo