Thirty five

Driving here, I saw the larch wood
bent against the hillside like a
weeping army.
Snow scabbed the fell and
a knot of thoughts -
cold and hard as a ball-bearing -
prevented me from opening to its
vast seduction.

Give it 6 months and reassess the situation
she'd said, stifling a yawn.

Now we're celebrating.
The children are watching us
tentatively setting our personas
within fragile, complicated logic
in order to smile and eat lunch.
They are learning that functional dysfunction
is as necessary as gravy.
The closed eyes of plates surround us;
your selfishness as deep and sweet
as the cake you cut into.

Outside, abacus starlings position
themselves on a telegraph wire.
I don't yet know the question
but the answer lies stark
against a February sky.