I only mustered one for February. I was off gallivanting rather than slaving over a hot keyboard. Ooh, a heated keyboard would be spiffy!

And He Held Out

And he held out
his hand and I put
the bolts there

and he said is that
all and I said it was
all I could find that

the shell was burned
like a house charred
down to rafters

and joists and he
asked which are
the rafters which

the joists and I
said my ribs are
the rafters my ribs

the tall arching rafters
of my church and my
spine the joist and

my heart was
the furnace but
it’s gone and

here’s what’s left
and he smiled and
curled his hand and

I knew he meant
to look for more
later while I sleep

Winter isn’t over yet, to my unending dismay. There’s more snow on the ground than is at all reasonable, and I still have a space heater toasting my toes.

And yet, when I saw the word “autumn” earlier today, I was instantly depressed, dreading the season. Yes, I am dreading autumn when it hasn’t even gotten to spring yet. My rationality should be legendary for its great, galumphing absence.

Of course, I’m 38 years old and I still get a sad little twinge whenever I see back to school sales, so at least I’m consistent.