365 Poems/ 42 Walking over ice in the dark (Rough First Draft)

Walking over ice in the dark


New York looks amazing,

the first few minutes after a snow storm,

before it’s attacked by a formidable opponent,

and ruined with salt and grit and purpose.


I notice where the paint has been

laid too heavily on the walls,

where it creates an accidental landscape.


The night smells clean.

Stars have packed the sky

and the moon is fat and proud.


I’m learning to stop saying yes,

and giving myself more reasons for no.


My curiosity stirs up old memories,

decisions I made in the summer

when I was told by a boy that

suicide watch had a quirky appeal.


Meanwhile, the moon is still here,

and it’s not going anywhere.


I’m calm on the surface

with tremendous drive underneath,

and I want pine trees and eagles in the morning.