Sunday, March 2, 2025. 12* (Real feel 4*)
A thin veil of snow greets as I open the door, still tangled in sleep.
If only I could type with gloves on or if
I had a desk beside a wood stove as Bruce did,
then, perhaps my hands would not be cold.
Three-quarters gone; yesterday’s shredding lingers—
Zayne, head tilted, ears keen, watched papers vanish
into a noisy machine that swallowed memories.
Like scattered glitter, confetti drifts across the floor,
clings to my sleeves, follows me as I leave the room,
a whisper of work unfinished.
Zsolt hesitates, his path obscured,
he waits, watching over my shoulder.
Boxes empty, tape stripped, folded, bound—
ghosts of elsewhere, they cannot stay.
Through the maze, Ruger finds me,
settles at my feet as I reach again
for another handful of yesterday.
Today would have been my sister’s 73rd birthday.
“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”
Philippians 4:13 ESV
Art: LJ Austin
