"The First Snow Without Him"--
like someone has perforated the day's picture,
flurries start blurring the landscape.
She looks first to the front lawn,
and then to the back lawn, as if the two places, separated only
by a house and her inside of it, might
have wholly divergent weather.
The hush of snow, the way it brings all the trees down
to a rumor, a movie sound going pause, the subjects engulfed--
to say he was cruel is not true.
To say he was never cruel is not true.
One advises to think of kindnesses,
the wish on an eyelash, the joint hijinks.
It's easier to see only wounds, not the whole big man
rising in the tub, the voice sounding like water,
a towel tugged between you.
You see, she refused to forgive in order
to love a little longer.
The image of his naked body comes to her freely,
and she erupts at the thought of him,
trapped in whiteness like the snow.