Maybe I should pull it
out of my ass;
the unwritten memoir
the not soon-to-be forgotten winter that refuses to end.
My friend had said she would shoot herself in the face
except for the dog
her personal savior
who oddly lost weight in the winter
loved to dance in the snow
the white powder
glistening on its wet nose, shepherd’s rescued tail, shiny fur
me to strip
off my inner gloom
and take that first nose-dive into the past.
Into the still stark white
as I strained
squeezing out excrement, snot and saliva
as black letters bled-out across the page
combing through the drift
shaking off the bad
compressing it all into a snow angel
its fragile wings
broadcasting a somber joy
plummeting headlong into the mound.