I & WE
I & WE
buses weren't running that night.
The planes had been grounded by the snow.
Even the taxi cabs slept inside the frigid wombs
of their garages.
I had these two legs
but my quadriceps were on the verge of buckling
from the knee-deep drifts. All that remained
was the 24/7
coffee shop where various vagrants
& after-party Navy men took pensive sips of Sanka
as if drinking their own hearts. I walked through
the door whereupon
bells jangled, as if
I were so important my presence had to be
announced. Yet, I leaned against
the cash register
larger than a coffin,
& watched one woman, a knit cap on her head
whose yarn was unraveling like centuries,
from the bible in the tones
of someone hanging on the cross
of what she forgot or what would never arrive,
& it bored
her. I stood for a long time,
so long in fact my stillness seemed a motion
& the snow outside the static, & this flock
my newly ordained family,
were cantankerous quarks about to implode.