Picnic, Snow
Ramshackle picnic in a park on the outskirts of town, hot dogs
laid out on a twig-fired grill in a sizzle of juices expanding,
just beginning to arch, skins turn the color of the crisped leaves
half buried in mid-December snow that even now continues to descend
into the pungent smoke rising until one particular god chooses to
inhabit both worlds, unstoppable in the inseparable air between us.
The snow drifts down, also onto our sleeveless bodies in early twilight
as the hum of trucks in the distance and the chirp of sparrows, flinty
in the naked branches above, fade behind the whiteness. You pass me
another twig, perfect and dry. Jerusalem’s last flakes hover
in the fog of your breath, floating toward your lips as they
inhale the prodigal air, the savor of winter’s first heat.
Original Publication – SAND Issue 11, 2015