Wednesday, February 17, 2010
a dove flew overhead
light reddish-orange drops on snow by my car
a man in parking lot says "slippery"
I sign my name (first name only) in the
book and write "slippery"
I have taken care not to fall on my walk
though it was slippery and a couple of times
Keep to the path
I thought of that poor luger who died
He looked frightened, in the photo I saw of him.
He was frightened.
Cross-country ski tracks in snow.
I felt as though someone had laid out the
path for me, made it safe. The mail has come.
D says the whole universe has arranged itself
around me. He says this sarcastically.
Seems so, I laugh. Seems I have the mojo. Who knew?
It's like a Philip K. Dick novel, he says.
If you say so. I never read one. You did.
You and I plays on the radio.
Was that you in the window across the way
that night the pines were dancing?
I saw a man - you - in the window looking
back at me. I stepped back into the shadows
of the kitchen and continued to watch the
trees dance, reach and dance.
I wasn't frightened - not that time.
On my way out of the parking lot
trying to get out the car lost traction.
Slippery. I don't know what to do, I said.
The man with the skis and his companion came to my aid.
Just don't give it too much gas, she said - we'll push.
They set me free. Thanks, I said.
Thank you, passing strangers.