last weekend/snowstorm on the way back
Snow unwalked through, hair unstraight, hands unfelt, isolated strangers friendlier as they got closer. “Do you have a cigarette?” “No, but smile for us...for the camera.” He was lowering his hand as I caught the picture, in which he wasn’t waving. By the time we continued walking and stopped staring up and ahead, hoarding snowflakes on the tips of our hair and sleeves, the 4 silhouettes at the intersection continued in their own directions, and he continued walking and skipping and tripping along, laughing with himself. And we laughed with each other, with the virgin snow and the camera, black umbrellas - misplaced in utility and matching the colorless everything else. We breathed out warm air and talked of brothers and sisters, and of never politely making small talk when we can dance by jumping. I changed out of my wet boots and jeans to the rhythmic tones of someone’s alarm clock, lifted the window shades and fell asleep.