on the first snowfall of the year
we wrapped ourselves
in our warmest coats,
turned off the lights,
kissed the cat goodbye,
& walked to the pier.
we were the only ones
out for blocks. i remember
the slippery dock & holding
onto your arm despite
the new york cold.
i remember my glasses
growing ice crystals &
carefully stowing
them in my pocket
for safe keeping. the
world was a blur of patterns
all white & misty.
jagged edges of buildings
evaded basic geometry
& were slightly curved.
everything was now different.
you kissed me while
looking at the brooklyn
bridge & i couldn’t
help but think about
how walt whitman would
feel if he could see us
now.
as we walked back
i couldn’t make out what
you were saying. i was
too busy looking at the
boy with his face to the
glass at a verizon store,
or noticing that the
top of the world trade
center was disappearing
into december fog, or wondering
if it snowed like this on fulton street
three years ago tomorrow, the
day my father died.