Ohio temperature drops forty in
the span of a day and suddenly all
returns to a slow slog. Open

the window when waking up
to reveal the sky spat snow
but when I leave the house

for work sun’s out and wind
sings a chorus of cold. I don’t
know what to make of it anymore.

I left this state I’d-rather-not-
count-the-years-ago because of this
uncertainty planted in the dead

cement of winter’s sputtering
to life and again the interstate
is in view. Give me a reason

to again. Everything around me, how
the days don’t seem to pass anymore,
a shuffling of cards. I sit

waiting for the old dealer to
hand me a full house in the
amber glow of spring.

(originally published in Fine Lines, Winter 2022)