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has been replaced by another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