The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by Jane Ellen Glasser
She woke to white fields and a screen of snow
so thick she could barely see the shed.
He had left early. There was another place
to go to once night fell. Tree to tree, a red
cardinal stitched the white air.
The garden that had worked her hands
all spring and summer lay buried. She felt sad
this morning, looking out on so much land
that held nothing. She would always wake
with a cold place beside her in the bed.
He would always return to the house in town
for the children's sake. She had read
the winter storm was coming. She was prepared
to wait it out. The distance between, a backroads
route, would go unplowed for days. She stared
at the dwarf maple, bent low by its heavy load.
The white-roofed feeder swung in the wind
like a ghost’s lantern. She told herself it was good
enough that he wanted her. Before he left,
he had chopped and brought in wood.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication