Unseasonably Precipitation

The rain fell
in January
with the same soothing sounds
as it has in June and July.

There was lightning at noon
and thunder just past the flashing.

I was reluctantly surprised
that even in the cold
the rumble of thunder
can make all the difference

in warming the soul
with the force
of the unseasonably
precipitation;

thawing the ice
just in time to watch it all
turn into an untimely spring.

Cold

Remember the days when the snow was deep as your thighs,
the days of wind lasted forever,
and we stood as still as the thermometer
at 40 below?

This is where we scraped the windows of lacy frost
and peer into the darkness
of all white and absolute zero.

It was enough to watch
a Minnesota parlour trick
when water turns solid
thrown in the air
and lands on earth
as frozen angels.

In this barren wasteland
the innocent became aware of block heaters
and the sin of owning a diesel.

Even from a distance
I can feel the small hairs
inside my nose
and light in my eyelashes
freeze immediately. . .
first breath
impossible.

We waited for the day when 6 degrees
felt like spring
and you could leave your coat unzipped.
Leave your gloves on the counter
and not have to turn back
to survive the cold
turning your hands
to icicles
that couldn't
get a grip
on anything
close
to warm.

The Breaking of My Own Voice

Suddenly
you turn,
like the six words
of an almost forgotten song,

“Leave me with what I have.”

With that
unfortunate turn of phrase,
I am no longer on your quest.
I am no longer your sherpa
who must endure
the emotional tumble
that congeals in my throat.

I create my own life,
no longer measuring time,
one atom at a time at your pace
so as not to reveal
my own weaknesses;
an amalgam of losses
and tasks left undone.

My transgressions abraded
one fiber of disappointment
undone by more than I can count-

more than the breaking
of my own voice.

V. Saying Farewell

The curve of a barren hand,
extending five fingers
like the porcelain smoothness
of prison bars,
is a gift I will not accept
as the calendar flutters her pages
to a new chapter.

I have straggled long
and lost my way
on the bad advice
given me,
betrayed and stumbling
by trusting
in the goodness
of all souls.

Let me return the favor
by offering you
these simple words--

Do not reach out
with false hope
on your smiling lips.

Do not greet me as a friend.
I already am a stranger
you have never met.

Put your hand into your own pocket
for the change you will need
to call on someone
whom you have
not yet used up.

The click of the receiver
will be all the clue you need
to get this final message.