E

[kickinyourteeth]

Work in progress, written here so I don't forget it.

The dust is settling
on those unpolished wood floorboards
back home.
Settling and gathering
like the snow on my window sill.

The birds I used to watch were white,
but their high pitched cries
are echoing in the throats
of their black plumed nestmates.

I've made the switch to monochromatic,
my window is a technicolor television
with loose wires.
The picture is faded and far away,
like the sun,
so high and pale above the fog of my breath.

There's a coming storm scrambling my signal,
every channel has snow.

One of the crows has found crumbs
in the cracks of the sidewalk,
and I get the impression of a spinoff
rather than a rerun.
The Jeffersons
rather than All In the Family.

I can't shake this blanket of familiarity.

There's a crack in the window frame.
Cold air whistles in,
for a second I mistake the smell of exhaust
for salt.

There's a woman wrapped in a scarf.
I pretend the dog pulling at her hand
is a child.
She looks like the lead from that cancelled show
and I catch myself hoping for a cameo.
The birds scatter under those outrageous paws.
I pretend they're fuzzy slippers
kicking up the dust that must be gathering
on my kitchen floor.
Not slipping in a snow drift.

The seagulls scattered in no direction but up,
the crows scatter in every direction but down.