We went sledding. I pulled plastic bags
over my feet before I stuffed them in my moon boots.
I wore mittens and a stocking hat. His beard was
a big black Viking ship as he slid down the hill,
holding the sides of the sled with clinched fingers.
He knocked my feet from under me and laughed
and said, “Sorry, I’ve never had such fun.”
We had hot chocolate later and he crossed his
bare feet in front of the fire. His pupils were leaks
in a ship’s hull. He looked like a boat floating
on a blue harbor. I said, “Is everything all right?
You look sad.” He said, “I have a dead child.”
I didn’t know what to say. Even now, I keep
filling his black hat with snow.
First published in MARGIE (now defunct)
Photo Source: Dynamic Marching
© 2012 Peter Davis. All rights reserved.