Polarity or Leaving

by Jessica Doble

In winter, sunrises occur at reasonable times

so we alight to the porch—cold, puffy-eyed—

blanket our pink-painted toes,

share coffee and snow kisses.

As we sealed vows written by men

under white tufted clouds and lace

her mother told us—Tailor the bridge to your dreams,

your feet will meet at each end.

We find the trick isn’t openness

but neverwhere. In the garden, hollow stalks,

dried sunflowers whisper through wisped mouths

but her bangled arms drown the words.

My wife’s mother crocheted a tea cozy

for the cracked, bluebell-crusted porcelain.

She didn’t know the whiskey

kept us warmer than the yarned stories.

I leave the spiced bottom rim

Warmth leaking to the counter

the Santa napkin stained with red lips.

Too bad it didn’t defend against the winter silence,

I tell her as we stack her suitcases

into what is no longer ours but hers.