First Death in Winter

New snow’s made our yard a white slate,
a Winter tale written out in shorthand.

Where deft paws notarized
a path to the trees, our weighted bouquet

of New Year’s balloons
wind-dragged across. I turn my attention

back to the table where
you sometimes sat.

Week-old white tulips sag in the vase.
When I carry them to the sink

the spent petals fall to the floor
like an unbroken line of footprints.

Solstice Literary Magazine April 2013

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