First Death in Winter

New snow’s 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.

I carry them to the sink,
spent petals
falling to the floor
in an unbroken line of snow prints.

Solstice Literary Magazine April 2013

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