2005-11-18 - 8:34 a.m.
Getting In Coal
The shovel scrapes metal
to cement, scooping frosted nuggets
diamond hard in subzero air. Inside,
a fire already glows, warming the house.
I fill two buckets and stand
for a moment still as water
frozen across a pond. My breath
leaves me, clings briefly to the air
and disappears.
A tip for those who do not know:
the trick is to be in no hurry.
Black coal is ice to a fire.
Poured too quickly it crackles and sizzles,
quenching the coals beneath. The trick
is to go slowly, build
on what is, like love. Be patient.
Don’t expect everything at once.
Time is on your side.
Etcetera.
I think back on my life,
girls I have known, have almost known.
My heart this morning is hard
as diamond, black as coal, cold
as ice. And yet
the skin enclosing it is sensitive and thin.
Another breath leaves, clings
a moment to the frozen air.
I stomp my feet, lift two buckets
of frozen heat, and head in.
