RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – April 17

Poem of the Week 04/17/18

At His House

Arthur Russell

She slept in the car,
under two coats,
half woke cold wondering
whether to go in,
hiding from him and the chill
with reasons banked like drifts
and snow clumping on the window
next to her face.

He saw the car
from the second floor
bedded down in snow,
no footprints, and she wasn’t
in the spare room, the windshield
covered; he stubbed
his cigarette and went down.

Snow on the window screens
made the square grid show;
she opened the car door and blinked.

He opened the door, waited
for her to come, rehearsing,
by slight movements
how he would open his arms
to her.

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