Poem

The House-Wives and I

Snow sits blanketing Nature,calmly,
like the slow vaporization
of lingering smoke.

Every person in the wide world is working.

But, the house-wives and I,
we are looking out windows
onto this blank landscape.

Icicles, in a muted sunlight, hang off bending branches.

There was a storm last night.
The emergency sirens went off.
On the roads,
cars were crashing into one another,
crippling upon impact.
And the locks to the cathedral were frozen
so no one could get in,
but someone left the lights on,
and although the cathedral was empty,
every window was illuminated.

And, outside, God travelled from light to light,
while holding his breath past the cemataries.

The sky was dead black.

That night a man in our home had a heart-attack.
I heard his heart tighten lie a rope stretching.

The emergency lines were jammed
because strong winds broke
the wooden telephone poles in half.

This afternoon,
one by one,
branches are snapping from the weight of ice.

The landscape is all white.
Smoke, rising from the rooftops,
slowly evaporates, calmly,
like the look of a deserted cathedral
or the sigh of a dying man,
who is the house-wive, and who is me.