I used to live for the day, she said, before I moved to Minnesota. Now, I check the temperature before I do anything.
I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Inuit had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.
How do you know? she said & the answers fell like feathers, or the first snowflakes of November, light & without words. I looked in her eyes & smiled. You just know, I said.
she sang like snowflakes on my tongue, bright & sharp with the forgotten promises of spring
I’m old enough to wear red boots any time I want, she said. She wanted to be buried in them, but her son had them put her in taupe pumps instead. She wore red all winter long so the ambulance could find her quicker if she fell in a snow bank & also it hides … [Read More]