Falling snow the silk
screen around me, a padded
room to scream in,Â
I perch porch-shelteredÂ
upon a bucket of rock salt.Â
Wind-buoyed branches inciteÂ
secondary showers. VoicesÂ
down the lane are near
to me, near as my dreams
are to the surface these nightsÂ
Naomi soaks a stainÂ
of honeydew through the swaddle.Â
I roll away from lamplight. Â
Away from Lili rinsing.Â
Mom lays eyes upon the light-brownÂ
owl whose hoots haunt herÂ
bedroom window. Nights she dreamsÂ
Dad is back, cooking up a stormÂ
in the kitchen. Mornings he slept inÂ
I climbed into bed to ask helpÂ
with the math my brain wasn’t ready for.Â
Of course it all makes sense to meÂ
now, snow battering the earÂ
flaps of my trapper hat, the black dolphinÂ
fins of my mittens, the snowblower’sÂ
sickly stench of wasted gas, troughÂ
tamped into berm of snow-fort,Â
make-believe igloo. Snow
owls pulling rabbit skins inside-outÂ
like red socks for owletsÂ
Mom believes to be monogamous.