Mar 1

Beware the melt, freeze, melt, freeze
dance of this new month.
Tears shed leave a translucent trace
as they dissolve. Beware the sun
not so low-riding across the sky,
teasing warmth soon interrupted
by a late hitting storm.
It’s the ice, not the snow, I curse—

the handwriting I can read, not
the scrawl bleeding in the margin.
Domino bones topple forward, not
backward, as another lahar drags
slurry farther down the mountain.
These scars: my geography, my home.

2 thoughts on “Mar 1

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