Sunday, January 27, 2013

Waiting for ice

The ice cometh.  The chance is one hundred percent (they say), as if anything is ever one hundred percent.  I am home with the cat.  My beloved has gone out to pick up our daughter from a church gathering in another community.  They are ending early... due to the ice.  The prediction is one hundred percent possibility of ice.  As if anything is ever one hundred percent.  I am home with the cat in my lap.


I wait for ice.
It draws the lines
For the morning decision
To attend the middle service,
Look for salt trucks
All the way home,
Eat breakfast,
Read the paper
With the cat
Changing laps at feline whim.
I wait for ice
Peruse the ailing ash tree
In back,
The downy woodpecker
On the potentially dying branch
Pecking.
I wait for ice
In the warmth of home
And cat,
A kitchen almost done.
I wait for ice.
I pray it will not come
Until all are home and safe again.
Until all are safe indoors
Taking turns
With the warmth and weight,
The sheer cat presence.
Home.
Waiting for ice.

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