first snow, first day of school

put jack on the schoolbus. went inside and washed my face. climbed the walls a little, then went through the house gathering stray books from the bedside, bathroom counter, kitchen table, mudroom, from backpacks and grocery bags, and gave them all back to the bookshelves. recycled an old stack of magazines and newspaper clippings. let the dog out to piss on the hoary grass.

last night was the first snow of the season—rain to sleet to lightasair as the night fell. i passed out eggnogs at the bar, told everybody the story of how i’d cried that morning.

i try to think back to who i was, ridiculously: selfless but trying to imagine a younger self in order to prove the lie that i am now somebody. i’ve been riding my velik home from the bar latenights through three winters already, in nearly every blizzard and nor’easter. tomorrow another storm is coming, but i made arrangements to leave work early and catch the train. my self these days compensates for its lack of inner resources.

there are still scentless, red roses blooming on the bush in the yard on the corner at pleasant hill. cold sun comes up. i put my boy on the bus again.

.

.

.

i want to go

to the ocean

today

a ways away

though i know

i have

certain obligations

we make

a self

in the act

of looking back

i feel

i’ve lost something

of that