what a cold september winter she went walking in
well she thought she was in a good mood
but the canopy of day bent those perceptions
when she came upon a snowbank higher than she
could reach she remembered a bracelet she could
not quite grasp when she was unable yet to form the words
to ask for it
high atop the grimy snow pile something glistened
and it broke her time connection for it did not curl
in her the least desire to reach up
still the sky crowded around her to get a better look
and with such an audience waiting, she felt compelled to
she scrabbled up the crumbling frost stack
and snatched down the shiny thing in her brown
and darkish red knit gloved hand.
well it was nothing, just a piece of tinsel, gold
she moved to fling it aside but caught herself instead.
she looked at it
and her hand inside the yarn seemed unattached to her
like someone else’s hand offering her this thing.
if her heart wouldn’t stop snare drumming she would
crumble to the sidewalk convulsing, but she could not move.
there were many strands of hair some gold some brown
some red some black she would have liked to have been
offered on a hand like hers, some others she had pretended