Praise for snow tracking north, the night rain soft
on shingles. How many things I am not
ready for: winter, namely. Bone ache at bus
stop, windbit cheeks, chapped lips, cracked cuticles.
The dry air a conduit of charge, quick snaps
on car doors, random hands. Not to mention
bed hair, dog fur that sticks to skin. Fabric
full of stray strands. Or unexplained wet spots
everywhere girls drop their shoes, jackets, mittens.
Paw prints and boot prints and blankets. In each
room, a muddle of things that bring us warmth.
The piles to praise. We are safe in our home.
To praise, our short walks from doorway to car door,
to have destination and a way to return.
Slant, Volume 32, 2018