I began as an afternoon in November. I fell as snow. A wool blanket
purled at the coal-burning stove. For a long time, I was wet.

Longer, I was weeping.

I knit Sunday, like today.

I filled the bathroom mirror with makeshift bones.
The hips and legs emptied a slow-moving storm over November.

The houses heaped with snow.

©2008 Dr. Lacy M. Johnson All Rights Reserved.