April 16, 2011
Snowfall: walking home.
We try for long days here, fight
the squeezing moon,
sharp-edged. We step
in wheel/foot furrows, dwell
in slick ponytails, clean white
collars. Contrast: fix extremes.
Hard to tell what is
and isn’t. Rimed branches,
coated grassblades glow
glass and I don’t. Watch:
the occasional raccoon, a father
with garbage bag and can
on the curb. No; I imagine
he’s a father. Me? Reluctant
mother without a baby. I’m a chooser.
Picture signs and breaking picket lines.
Shh. I want to be chosen
tonight. Come true, everything.
Starlight cellbright. I know;
that’s too much. But they both
seem so small and large. Listen:
Forgive it. Walk like your body is
precious, even if it’s just delicate
fear. Wrap yourself in awe.
Remember singing treble
First Noel: twelve years old,
long black skirt crisp white shirt,
hair a fire hazard. Tight
harmonies and bells.
Lines of teenage girls blowing out
candles, notes glittering white-
outs. Melt before you know
you’ve fallen. Walk home.