First Edit: Drift

[Richard]

Drift

Last week's snow is frozen,
hard as morning after apologies
given to a back, sore
from sleeping on the couch again.

I use your gardening spade,
still dirty with spring soil;
your annuals long dead.

Inside, our son plays
with his imaginary friend
(we can't agree
on how much to humour him).
You protect yourself
beneath a quilt
with a thread count you insisted on.

Our silence repeats in my head,
until winter wind starts an argument
with my labored breaths-
then the shovel breaks.

Drift

I use a metal shovel
because last week snow fell,
whimsically guided by the breeze,
but now, it is frozen on the ground.

Inside, our son plays
with his imaginary friend
(we can't agree
on how much to humour him).
You protect yourself beneath a quilt
with a thread count you insisted on.

Your silent goodbye repeats in my head,
while winter wind reminds me
what must be done.