Tomorrow the thin ice on black weeds will
Shimmer in the sun. Tomorrow,
He will return in a metal chariot
With barely a gas tank. Tomorrow,
I will go with my mom to see her father
And dig the dirt away from his
Tombstone.
But Today,
I sit alone by the window with a glass of tea
And the fire dying low as I wait for the sun
To rise. Tonight,
I listen to the house creek and
The floors echo and the clock that ticks
in the kitchen
Right now,
My hands fumble for the cellphone
I left upstairs so I could be alone.
I lean my head back against
My mom’s old leather chair and wonder
If you missed your flight and won’t be home until
Midnight. I wonder
What Mom has brought to bring to Grandfather.
I wonder how long until the snow melts
The sun begins to rise