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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