The Winter

Flakes pound against my brain's windshield.
I saw mom and dad today.

The wiper blades beat with my heart, healing and pain, joy and sorrow,
hope and dispair.
How I wish I could give them back their youth and health. How I wish we
could all play Solitare.

Dad stands on two poles and sings baritone to ten tenors. The voice is
the same as I've always remembered, strong and passionate.
His hands still delicate, who said you reap what you sew!
The stairs are an effort for him now, the urinal hides in a corner.
Modesty has flown.

The winter has wipped his mind and drained his strength. He laughs and
brings memories of sled rides in the snow. "I'll run and you jump on
top. Ok? Go!"

We fell down the stairs together once. I was 4 or so. He belted me with
his arms. I still think of it and jump in my sleep. Time is cold. This
drive is too slow.

Mom cracks open albums. Lines of family stare back at us. "Your first
son is like my brother you know, tall, slim and artistic." We recall
old glories. She spoils my kids and hunts for treats. Dad calls for
Ro.

They sent me home with the first sign of flurries. "Yes, I'll call when
I get in." She'll call if I don't.