Adirondack Winter

Published in Blueline Anthology, 2004



In Brooklyn
Where I grew up
Was mythic cold

Like in the old country
When I was a boy cold

Here in the north country

It takes over
It sits in the trees
The sky
Is the color of cold

This morning
it’s only twenty below
In the February dawn
I take the garbage out at six AM
Rather than the night before —
So as to keep the varmints out of it

The snow crunches under my feet
like corn flakes
The trees crack
Like rifle shots

The ice moans
On the lake
A mile away

Dressed warmly
I can’t feel the cold

But I can hear it