Grace

Yesterday’s boot tracks

half effaced, softened

rounded by last night’s

new snow.

In the Dishpan

Solitary scarlet mug

surrounded by fine 

white bubbles.

Snow Lab

Eight and a half inches

and still falling, piling up.

Heavy, packable snow.

Snowball, snowman

monster fort snow.

Engineers in pacs and ski pants 

bend over 5-gallon-bucket-

molded snow blocks arguing

packing technique and structure.

Shadow Like

Bits of sunflower hull darken 

a circle of snow below the feeder,

gleaning juncos flit and bob.

Remaining Mysteries

Half way to out to the garage 

with a bag of meat for the freezer 

I hear “To-whee..to-wheedledee!” 

Someone new coming to the feeder?

Kinking my neck, squinting through 

binoculars gets me a few views, 

creamy bellies on high branches 

thick bills and a brush of amber or 

russet on cocked head-top

not enough for identification

and they never do come down 

for seed.  Write them off as  

“Mystery bird. Passing through.” 

and go put the meat away.

Retrospective

In a plastic grocery sack

on the desk I’m trying to clear, 

two red hanging files my mother 

handed me on New Year’s Day.

They turn out to be filled with

all my letters to her from 17 to 51.

Scraps from notebooks, cutesy stationary,

a post card of Yosemite Falls.

I spend half an hour reading 

samples of my younger self, then give up,

sighing and wishing I liked her better.