Poem for Wednesday and After the Snow

In the dark we crush
By Julia Cohen

crab apples for the sound of it. Light cannot
be bitter. The backyard licks us.

Blue like kindling, the fox we caught with
a shoebox. Your shirt is a constellation

in the tent of recovery. If you release the hand
you relax the animal. Bookshelves hold up

the moon. I sweep your fur into a feeling.
I put you into my memories on purpose.

Moss smuggles stars into your cheeks.
Inside your body’s future, bravery turns to pulp.

The flashlight pendulum. Your face sounds like that
record player. Electric & spinning.

Let’s grow old together. Don’t be scared
of Gertrude Stein. Be brave.

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Our tub has been leaking through the ceiling of the downstairs bathroom, so on Tuesday we had a plumber come inspect all the various pipes in our house while we hung out in other parts of the house. Turns out the problem isn't a pipe but a crack in the plastic covering the back wall where the old tile is, so we need that repaired rather than the plumbing, which will probably actually cost more. What snow we got melted slowly over the day, so by the time we took a walk in the afternoon, there was very little left. 

 

 

I watched Voyager's "Projections" with my fan friends, one of whom was very stressed out because of a sick family member. Then Paul and I watched a couple of episodes of Fate: The Winx Saga, which is simultaneously derivative of Harry Potter and every other magical academy franchise and self-aware enough to parody them. There's an awful lot of stereotypical bitchy teen girl stuff, but the central mystery is interesting enough for me to keep watching, and I like the cast and the focus on women's magic.