even in winter

a clear invitation —

tree-lined path

a dusting of snow

melting as we marvel —

my anger dissolves

eggs and toast —

all day my little house

smells like childhood

used to ask my dad

questions with complex answers

right before bedtime

rain in the forecast —

a train whistles and I turn

to face the breeze

flare of anger

when no one thought to tell me —

death notice

ducks circling up

to keep the lake from freezing —

together in the black

face down on the ice —

somehow intact, praising 

my mother’s bones

(HT B. Chepaitis)

groves of aspen

connected at the root —

I call my sister

how I would linger

outside her doorway

on the hope, the chance...

soggy ground

where the snow has melted —

seeds sigh in their sleep

you walked me home

and then we were still talking

so I walked you home

we plan our route

to avoid the icy spots —

shine becomes a warning

melting ice

soft sounds of shifting —

we try again to forgive

first bird of the day —

singing me from my dream

into morning

behind my teeth

the questions I’m not allowed —

thicket with thorns

lingering pine scent

where the tree stood —

Martin Luther King Day

second snow day —

we add laundry to the list

of work to ignore

you sing to yourself —

notes finding our floorboard cracks

rise to reach me

the end of school break —

we stand around trading 

stories and germs

wine country —

memories of praying

this time we’d drive past

in bed with a fever

listening to the ice

crack

snow

smoothly glazed now

with ice and moonlight

the rush of knowing

you were around the corner —

fast running stream

cars in the median

telling the story of black ice

while snow drifts on

tucked into a bush

like forgotten ornaments —

handful of sparrows

across the street neighbors

working towards each other —

shoveling snow

opening and closing

slow beat of butterfly wings —

we watch the baby breathe

last night’s full moon

on the far side of the sky —

snow so cold it squeaks

third day of your cough —

I make eggs the way you like them

with love folded in

morning mist —

for a moment, landmarks gone,

I lose who I am