how that first really cold day makes you think that
I will live in the country,
where I don’t have to drive around and around to park
around the corner from my house.
And on the days I had slated for shaving
or for some other city business
I will collect quilter’s squares: fat quarters of calico,
Bits of thread and
sticks from the yard.
Hay, too, if I inherit a field.
And in between the tufts of clouds seen from the screened in back porch
Or barn,
rotted, but surely part of my property
I will gather also
wood and bricks.
From these gatherings,
Along with the birds nests and oddly shaped rocks
I find
the days of the week now forgotten
I will, in between kicking an old wood stove into flame
And thumbing through second hand paperbacks,
Sew a dress
And build a funeral pyre.
—Dana Marie Embree
illustration by Happy Burbeck
