First Snow of '96
by Tiffany Midge
Two autumns now
without your monkey trees,
soiled sheets, horse-shoe
grin and coffee cups.
I count them out like worthless coins.
Autumn, your death palace,
your rectangled tin shack,
space heater and mangled dreams.
What have I replaced
you with? This habit, this chaste
curse I wear so well.
This season burning in my fist.
The angels who lay with me
praise my eviction from your heart.
I have unlocked the shackles,
thrown open the windows,
finally the air is sweet as mangoes,
and our first snow arrived.
It is like death
and birth coming and going
on the same relentless train.
And no taxi crosses the yard
to charge me its old tired fare.
The meter that runs me down
old before my time.
There is no darkest-before-dawn
madness pulling me from my bed,
and no insistent ringing in my head.
The memories are bandaged mouths
banished to an attic,
and etched in dust
in a language I dare not speak.
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