He left his brother face down in the snow,
struggling still and making a sound far away
and dismal, like someone talking to himself
in another room. Off the bus, he had navigated
the drift big as a chapel and deep in the middle,
by skirting the edge up high, but his brother
had plunged straight in, seeking a direct route.
He was honestly disgusted at this lack of nuance,
this typical misreading of the cold earth itself.
He didn’t wait long, didn’t say his brother’s name
more than twice, just marched up the long drive
to the house where maybe someone was waiting,
someone could do the hard lifting after prayer
or screaming, whatever one said against the cold.
About the Author: Charles Freeland lives near Dayton, Ohio. Recent books and ebooks include Variations on a Theme by Spinoza (red ceilings press) and Eucalyptus (Otoliths Books). You can learn more about Freeland's work here.