pushing up the attic door
a nearly lifeless cold rolls down in a palpable wave
their memories of a farmhouse 1910, the brick and mortar that made
the foundation of the strongest people I have ever known.

We'll warm it up! They exclaim, with cheer-
tell that to ancient blankets and damp dense quilts
that haven't seen a living body in the past six months
lumpy mattress and the simple single thickness of wood
three feet above the head of the bed

very still, then, wrapped in darkness and
a quiet weight shared by those entombed
I hope that if I do not move, I might not die
as the heat from my 10year old boy body
chips away at neglect and assumption
my trust in big people challenged yet again-

now there is something, movement: flutter: let the games begin!
A mouse, in all His Joy, runs back and forth across my chest
knowing we have been placed here for each other
to keep good company
this dark and deep winter night.

The north wind off the lake tears and cries
at the window screens and shingled roof
I have long since stopped listening and found
that place that eludes me now,
a peaceful place alone with all the memories
and a mouse curled up and dozing next to me
and there is no one about the place
that has a single care in this world