Academic journal article Field

Winter Companion

Academic journal article Field

Winter Companion

Article excerpt

When I step outside, February air is chopped ice chandeliers

circling themselves in a barn so huge

the birds are actually uncertain and with wild twitterings inquire,

"Which way to Louisville? Is this Baja?"

And while that's going on, a transparent beast of light walks among

them,

turns left

at the end of that street where the old woman hates her yard, and

howls away

toward the river.

Maybe I go back in and maybe I carry a candle out among the

darkening

cottonwoods

where the deer, shaggy in their winter jackets, hold mute convocation.

Maybe I whisper a little.

It all depends, I tell myself, hands shaping the distance between

shrugging

and that waitress

thirty years ago who pitied my hapless face and stepped out of her

uniform

to warm my bones.

If the sky is spitting snow, I keep moving my big old boots so when

the wind

comes I'm busy

and far from that secret he's always trying to get me to reveal.

Fuck the wind.

These are my steps. …

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