Maybe I should pull it
out of my ass;
the unwritten memoir
the poems
the pain
the not soon-to-be forgotten winter that refuses to end.
My friend said she would shoot herself in the face
except for the dog
her personal savior
who lost weight this winter
loves to dance in the snow
the white powder
glistening on its wet nose, shepherd’s rescued tail, shiny fur
swaying
me to strip
off my inner gloom
and take that first nose-dive into the past.
Into the still stark white
as I strain
squeezing out excrement, snot and saliva
as black letters bleed-out across the page
combing through the drift
shaking off the bad
compressing it all into a snow angel
its fragile wings
broadcasting a somber
joy
emerging playful
and puckish
plummeting headlong into the mound.
