Scraping ice at 4 A.M.
Clatter from the cul-de-sac enters my bedroom
and fashions itself on my face,
a teeth bearing grin.
With eyes still shut, I have woken to the mad routine,
walking through blue carpet halls
on a collision course with suicide;
My own or yours,
it hardly matters.
It is not premeditated.
It will be sudden
like the distraction of a cat while slicing tomatoes
or filling a glass with water and gulping without noticing
With just the tiniest bit of care or patience,
all will be avoided,
but there is no stopping an avalanche after nine week snowfall
without a sunny day between.
I only hope
that no homes or villages
lay at the foot of this mountain,
because the pile is ready to break
like the San Andreas fault,
like the Yellowstone Caldera,
like the asteroid that has no name yet—
but upon impact, will be known as Relief.
Relief from these mad routines
and the nine week snowfall or rainfall
without a sunny day between;
Relief from the disappointments,
the spiders, and the clatter.
Relief so sweet, it’s only challenger is love
or the apple fritter I used to get from Three Sisters Bakery at the market.
So, I go there along my collision course.
Mine will be a slow one,
probably like yours,
seeking marginal amounts of relief only as needed.
Without this, the pile stacks too high and too heavy.
Without this, the avalanche is coming and so too,