Following the Arrival
of a Book
As white veils of daylight
slice through the slitted shades
in my room,
I think of you.
I wasn’t sure you existed
until I saw you there,
until I owned your words.
They arrived just yesterday.
They’ve since turned to stones in my shoe,
making me wonder
if you miss the snow;
if the chill in your bones
has been replaced by another
or if you’re still so cold.
I can almost imagine you,
wrapped tightly
in a twice-knotted scarf.
I’d often wondered what you looked like.
But those words were meant for someone else.
I saw so on the dedication page.
n Lindsay Petersen