cold poem

Mid Winter

Colder than warm, I remind myself
that today is a gift. Students are slow
to answer, but the end of class
finds us all grown a little grateful:
a death, a gorgeous sky, an early
taste of candy. A table and room
that provide all one man needs. Words
circle us. On errands, my cashier
is a beautiful sun-faced man, his name
covered by his long black ponytail. Joy Jit,
I read, from my receipt. Could this
be all I need right now? A moment
to sit and write. A bag half full,
enough food for two dinners
and two lunches. Fruit
in winter. My hands warming
as I write. The train fills,
some people shed cold in gusts.
A little warmth is a lot,
on a sub-freezing day. Just an hour ago
I stood above the treetops and watched
the snow. I swear, it didn’t fall, it floated.
Once I reached the ground, the sky was sun,
and the air was free from snow. I will arrive
home to a sleeping child, and a baby
who may cry if I don’t pick her up immediately.
Gift and reprieve wrap my day.

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