Diana Lawrence


Joe couldn’t tell you where it all was coming from.
Couldn’t tell you why the road was getting rockier
and the news and all the numbers looked like mud.
The leaves were all falling and spinning in circles in allies and sidewalks and yards.
It was all so quiet.
A shiver that could be a cry or a scream
or the snow.

Joe didn’t know how to tell her they’d let him go.
That the winter would be empty of the warmer things
and the cracking ice would get much thinner, dear.
She sat down in the chair as she suddenly asked all the children to go to bed.
It was all so quiet.
A shiver that should be a cry or a scream.
And it snowed.
It snowed.
It snowed.