It seems that fragments of our fractured Winter have mixed into Spring.
And another cut off low is on its way.
So by the side of the house in a wet brown lump of frozen mud.
— these pliers rescued from under the melted snow will never be useful.
Chipping the ice. The jaws are stuck
And the two parts welded by rust. Corrosion. Flakes and deep pitting.
From what 3 months?
And in this I stare as if the jaws will open and speak truth to me.
And I feel the sun and the cool breeze
And listen to the blue sky
And this I know that I am stuck.
Whether by ice or rust
I know that there is corrosion and decay
And by no act of will can I be freed.
So I swallow that lump in my throat
And take a very conscious breath.
Did this look forward to Spring? To be rescued– this tool?
Did it want to be found?
And it is desperate to be fixed?
I tap the frozen jars on the crumbling concrete wall here…
And it sounds dull. But it is stuck.
And I imagine in that gap that it has my expression.
Sadness and disappointment.
That it has lost its usefulness and will be discarded.
Do you know that I think of this? That one thing that I will not tell you:
That some days… I know I have lost my usefulness.
That I am stuck by ice or rust
In this part of life, and that in it I have no purpose.
My jaw left open.
My eyes stare blankly
And I think about being discarded. Even now. Even in Spring.
Because under this muddy ice and beneath that layer of rust
There is nothing. Nothing of use.
Part of every day, I think on death. And I drop the old tool into the blue bin.
Fragments of winter are drifting into Spring and we may see more snow on Saturday
And I will watch it fall, if it falls.