The long walk from the building:
across the parking lot, down the long-run steps,
and to my waiting car,
all the while failing to ignore the cold seeping into my bones.
The approaching winter air stifles hope,
the early darkness suffocating, the starless skies maddening.
In these pre-winter nights, the doomed promises
are drawn out, tattooed; memories prepped for autopsy.
The painful recitals that never fail to surface:
when our son was newly carved from the womb,
when our daughter was revealed to us,
the spring of our love, the morning of our perfection,
the face of my young mother when our memories were happy,
my brothers as cherubs before the poisoning of Eden,
my father hoisting me above a field of dandelions,
beneath a perfect blue sky,
when the world new and my heart open to him.
Those thoughts push me towards the warmth of my car,
to wrap myself in a metal cocoon and hurry home
to sit before the fireplace and burn these memories anew.