overwinter
it’s 4am on a sunday & I decide I want to cook a stir fry & the february snow is fresh fallen & coated beneath my shoes & I think about Luck. how I could still see my breath on the bus & how the lady in front of me is doing crossword puzzles with a pen & I had things to do that day & sitting in the parking lot of a church for the first time in three years made me sick & I couldn’t step inside. like watching a bomb tick, like watching snow melt & it’s faster with music but not when you’re counting the minutes & my bones and head and heart are made of clouds & jefferson park is part of the milky way & I say I need to spend more time with my family. my friends say I need to spend more time with my family & I miss cicadas singing suburbia to sleep & grocery shopping in the early morning, hands cold from gripping the milk carton for too long & on sunday morning I drudge out my door in a bulky coat & trip on a patch of ice on the front porch & down the stone steps & buy green peppers, potatoes, kimchi, & cauliflower with a bleeding knee on the car pedal