Four days without cigarettes
and how can I whine
when dry
snow drifts in the cold and the sea
takes one hundred and fifty
thousand. I pull my
quilts around me, this knitted
scarf, this crocheted
hat, these dogs
to keep me warm with no need
to think of eating them.
The sea now peopled
with inedible creatures, half-fish half-
human. One does not
fork the flesh
of one’s brother. The animals ran
before them to high
ground and hidden
places, elephants clambering
with their great sensitive feet
away away
from the trembling earth
and the demoned sea. Juncos
peck at the seed
I’ve scattered on snow.
Siskins wait at the feeder.
Will those who are left
grow into disappointment
that none are who
they lost this day?
Or will they find
in each other
some consoling love?
This one needs much more work, but, as usual, you get what I have.
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