to the feel of one of the cats
walking about my face, above me
laying as i am on their couch
at the mounds of snow through the window
my car, stuck in a ditch, two miles away.
Vic asks me if i'd like some coffee
i say thank you, i have a cup
and i am trying to go slow since coffee is a diuretic
and after the many pitchers of beer from last night so am i.
Rex suggests using the outhouse, as opposed to the new indoor toilet,
since the diarrhea may congeal to a frozen concoction before it leaves my system.
i ponder the thought, and decide instead to drink more coffee
and do battle as battle comes. indoors.
from the upstairs, Robi wakes, singing Slovenian folk songs
never to hit the top ten, but definitely rousing in the morning.
i'm back, in time, in space, in a lace sea of snow and trees
bound by the weather and the land that i have so missed here
on the edge of the Appalachian mountain chain.
Life is not circular, nor is it linear; it is an oval,
where moments from the past sometimes touch close to the present and other times are a subconscious wet dream far off in mist and sweat.
i love it here now, as much as i hated it in the past.
blocks of time lose their reality between visits, synaptic gaps of memory and blood, no less valid the truth, but in the air of an abandoned life, much less the edge.
pain heals time and time numbs the wounds.
i'd love to stay and gaze out the window at the snow
and web of trees
heavy with weight
intricate lace of white
but once again
the bathroom calls.
Porcelain supercedes picturesque.