Convalescence

I step out onto the covered sidewalk

and turn my gaze towards you,

but I’m stopped mid-stride.

There’s snow falling from the

soft, rosy-pink sky—

I don’t know why I’m shocked.

I start walking again, and

even though there’s a roof above my head

I still feel snowflakes and cold air

brush my face with this unbelievably cruel gentleness.

I’m bowing my head now, in submission,

and the snow feels colder and colder,

like it’s been following me, waiting to

snuff out my flame for years.

And as I look down I peer back,

back on that night we walked together,

and I walked tall—

O how you cast me down.

I stop at the street crossing

and I step out from under the roof.

I look skyward. The snow

touches my skin, and I let out

a ragged breath—the

kind that crawls on its belly, and drags itself

out of your throat.

Your snowflakes still land, still melt on my face

but as I walk forward, forward towards

you and I think of how I saw you

today and you were glad …

I lift my eyes and raise my head.

I cast my shoulders back and widen my stride

(for yours is not the direction in which I place my step),

and I begin to whistle.