Issue 7 :: Spring 2005  
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Catherine Moran

poem for snow.

at the new year's party
someone lamented the lack
of weed going 'round,

you said
'i think the drug of choice
is more seasonal'

and i admired
you a hundred fold
for your abstinence,

partying like it was 1999,
and you a well-dressed
negotiating the wave-like crowd
with sober grace.

That hummingbird

out the window of your cottage
landed on the branch
to escape the downpour
and I was never happier that it was raining.

He stayed there for so long,
shaking and slightly fluffed up from the wet.
Breathing, tenuous being,

This - the tinniest bird in existence.
Your eyes lit up
when I shared my glee
at having been able to watch one for so long.
Something about how fragile it was,
miniscule hollow bones,
seems forged now, with you.

That, "the worst weekend on earth"
as we lovingly refer to it, now.
When you finally admitted
you were destroying yourself, with drink.

Same weekend I knew for sure I loved you
because of how you described flying squirrels
and how you looked at me when we were all
hovered around the pine beetle
and your mom asked "Darlin' ... do you like bugs?"
Photo credit: Corel