Your face is one among the muffled heads
Cowled against the blowing snow, Slick sidewalks forcing awkward steps
And stiffened knees,
Snow reducing us to toddler walk
From where I watch in a warm café,
Parked cars all the same now,
Edges curved and soft.
I watch from the upper room,
People shuffling on sidewalks,
Heads bent in the snow globe world
And cars losing color,
All the earth gone white.
For a moment warm in bed
I forget, reaching a hand that falls through you
Asleep beside me, landing instead
On an empty pillow remembering—
Moments are needed for reassembling
Oh, I’m here.
The room is brisk and white,
The trees smiling icicled
Beyond the frost-framed glass,
Oval photographs make me think
These trees are old,
Not photographs but windows
Frosted over, all but the oval centers
Framing trees like something
You would see on a Christmas card,
Imagining bells and something red,
Velvet warm and red.
Where is Christmas, with the children grown?
Did it leave with them,
A package tucked beneath an arm,
Plastic over the paper wrapping
To guard against the snow?
Below the guest room a coffee grinder claims
The world didn’t end as predicted.
No small feet in the hallway
Or whispers at the door—
No chores this morning
To pull me out of bed,
Where I procrastinate slipping feet
Into cold slippers to join the morning
Talk over coffee in bright mugs red
Against the Christmas snow.
I think of you, maybe next year—
Watch the trees through frosted glass.
Moments are needed for reassembling.
I wait, under good blankets
Holding heat.
Ann Arbor, Michigan
Christmas, 2012
