Three Poems

what time is it anyways?

when ice crystals speak
they sing in tiny voices
I can hear the world
It is just outside
alone on the porch
knocking softly
I am here, it says to us
won’t you open the door?
we say, no
we pull the covers up to our noses
and sing softly
and do not listen
anymore


I’m going sledding with my younger sister tomorrow

downhill was my specialty
tucked
huddled
hurdling, supersonic
we would crouch blind behind squinted eyelids
breath steaming like a runaway train
pretending to steer
while trees leap aside
and the landscape blurred
like a winter watercolor
of this moment
fingerpainted in time

rah galah

mornings like this were meant for prayer
to gods of small things
they hide from us
they creak and crack between the beams of hard wood
to let us know they are here
this morning we call them from their hiding places
come out
she is saying
gods of warm toes
gods of dust

thank you