You Have Only What Remains
Gay Brewer
Raise a window to begin, breathe in January,
feel it like smoke on the skin of your arms
When the church bell starts its cadence, low
and ominous, label the sound without prophecy,
continue counting until others lose interest
Think then of coming snows, of heaviness,
plan to search for that plastic shovel to dig
a way out later, to check and recheck
provisions, to watch the dog breathing
by the fire, to find a dog, to make a fire
Consider the bell persisting, forty chimes
at least, and do not believe it signals
a forgotten thing, do not tolerate indulgence
Say in a steady voice, today will pass as
yesterday has, in the tired manner of history
You take this too personally, the opaque sky,
the torn screen, the sudden movement of leaves
Recall a single mockingbird, then another,
on the highest branches of a holly bush,
recall how the branches bent with red berries
and the berries seemed almost beautiful
