Poem | Snow Globe

(Ola Gozha/Unsplash)

How many snow flakes fall on this house
with the red roof. A deer comes to graze—
washed in umber, white-tailed, it nuzzles
drift-fixed wands of blackberry, pulls stems
frothed with inch-thick hoarfrost. Icicles bloom
from failing gutters. If you peer close
a woman wanders from room to room,
glaze-eyed, looking for her lost romance.

Fixed diagnoses: hallux rigidus,
spinal stenosis, sifted by a demiurge.
Listen as she washes miniscule dishes,
china small as atoms. After the urge
to leave home wrests loose of the glass
she sits down alone to watch Christmas.

Published in the December 2022 issue: 

Judith Skillman is the author of more than twenty full-length collections. Visit www.judithskillman.com.

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