in the dead of winter

i could no longer feel my love
not for myself
even my children were feral and unknown
snow whispered down all-day
alone
the breaker kept killing the heat inside my apartment
leasing office was closed for the holiday break
no pets no girlfriend no wife no one
my nightly call to my dying mother
offered no lift
assisted living was in lockdown
she waited in her room
to die
to return to her daughter and son
in her vision of heaven
reading was no longer a topic we discussed
her clouded mind could no longer hold the thread of a page
she was the reader she gifted me she read to me
she read my writing
corrected my spelling and pronunciation
with words poems neruda paz
one hundred years of solitude
and the snow didn’t stop
texas
how the fk does it snow for three days in a row
will i die
cold
depression
some desperate attempt to warm my living space
the cold the white the loss the isolation
connected my 86-year-old mom and my little boy’s heart
i was doing everything i could think of
to interest her
in
living
i was in a strange place with sketchy warmth
she was in a beautiful hotel-ish room with a view of the pond
the ducks or swans or things were gone due to the storm
eventually the power grid failed and my apartment went from cold
to uninhabitable
my mom’s place stayed warm
i couldn’t even get in to see her without paperwork and permissions

winter did end
so did mom
i go on and on

today’s high is 86 on february 27
and tomorrow 71
and on the day that doesn’t really exist
leap day 56

we’re in the dead of winter

we the living

12-27-23

(thanks to dj for the image this morning)

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