They could hear sleet crinkling outside,
but through the black window could only see
sporadic headlights wobbling.
but through the black window could only see
sporadic headlights wobbling.
They sat on beanbags in the living room,
Hawaiian shirts over their quilted jackets,
eating hot dogs roasted in the fire place,
mustard and catsup blobbing their pale green napkins
like Kandinsky paintings. They played gin rummy
with Tarot cards, inventing new rules with each hand.
When the fire faded, he took the big flashlight
to bring in more wood. She lit a candle
to search for a bottle of white wine.
The refrigerator opened into a dark hollow,
its motor silenced, stoic contents blind and deaf.
Out of nowhere, she sensed he was about to die.
She prayed for lines repaired and light returned.
The Tower trumps the Knight of Wands.
The Hanged Man marries The Moon.
~ Sara Backer: Hollis, New Hampshire | The Brooklyner
