Home

Home for the holidays
and it's cigarettes on the porch
with the girls.
We've always done our best talking here
or in the kitchen or bathroom.
Whenever we talk on the phone
I always imagine you--
sitting on the counter,
eating leftover pie with your fingers,
or balancing with one foot
in the soap dish, shaving your legs.
It's cold out here but we're not done
talking yet. . . .
and the snow really is beautiful,
big fat flakes--a million falling at once
so that you feel like you're
in one of those glass snowballs
that's just been shaken
or turned upside-down.