Iced

Iced

Ann Howells

November was caustic. December astringent.
Chimneys became harmonicas.
Windows shook like tambourines.
January skies curdled, built cobblestone ice.
Walkways shattered into concrete jigsaws.
February scythed ice sheets from rooftops.
The dog, shamefaced, left puddles and piles
embellishing the stoop. March felled a neighbor —
purple ankle propped and, ironically, iced.
April lawns hover beneath snowfields and drifts.
Daffodils claw upward through frozen earth.

Ann Howells

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