Anne Cars On(b. 1950)
New Rule
A New Year's white morning of hard new ice.
High on the frozen branches I saw a squirrel j u m p and skid.
Is this scary he seemed to say and glanced
down at me, clutching his branch as it bobbed
in stiff recoil—or is it just that everything sounds wrong today
The branches
clinked.
He wiped his small cold lips with one hand.
Do you fear the same things as
I fear I countered, looking up.
His empire of branches slid against the air.
The night of hooks
The man blade left open on the stair
Not enough spin on it, said my true love
when he left in our fifth year.
The squirrel bounced down a branch
and caught a peg of tears.
The way to hold on is
afterwords
S
clear.