near roubaix lake
they've made a new stream
the early snow has filled
this footbridge barely supports
my weight above the runoff
ten inch PVC hastily
placed releases water
from the makeshift dam
of mud and sticks
to rot the roots
of newly flooded chokecherry shrubs
they will die now
and fall over next spring
or early summer
brown, leafless chokecherryless
we are running
you and I
into new course ways spilling
into low places killing what
once grew
and just maybe, with time
we will find what there is to water
that needs watering,
how to silt fertile
this strange Dakota
soil
further down, cattle graze
oblivious on rich grass stopping
only to drink
where otherwise
they would have gone thirsty
but winter is coming
in the gray clouds
the sun barely a warm spot,
the time when everything
shuts down
into soundless white
It would be simple
to wait it out
hope for a renewed warmth
to pry us into usefulness—
if only love were a thing
that flowed downhill
*******************************
White Christmas
They never have snow in Abilene
so four inches dropping wet
out of a wide, plains sky
on the twenty-sixth of December
is more miracle than ambiance
Grandpa, having slept the night
in jeans and boots in his chair
works up a smile as we pack ourselves
into the tiny hospital room
They've been expecting us
Grandma, one cheek drooping
stubborn as she forms her greeting
How are you-all?
her left hand lying soft, puffy
as dough in her lap
is dressed already for the holiday
in her red pant-suit
with the Indian-head nickel buttons
all buttoned and modest, pretending
the wheel-chair isn't there
Can you be-lieve this snow today?
Beyond the window a hastily-rolled snowman
is slowly lowering his twiggy arms, his face
sliding away under the sun
He will be gone in thirty minutes
My daughters, having given her the picture
of themselves and their sleds, are petting
Grandma's hand, singing softly
tracing lines to connect the brown spots
with the tips of their own tiny
fingers
smoothing her rounded shoulders
Grandpa watches, eyes keener than ours
to the subtle changes—her eyes sinking deeper
the three second waves of blankness
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