From underneath a stupor I take to
the unfamiliar streets where
the morning light is a new language
and my hair now speaks your smell.
The unbrushed cars dream from underneath
their half-inch of snow.
As I drive into the known
world again, the Sunday morning all the hidden
families are collaborating on over
headaches and coffee and prayer,
I pass a car with a bumper sticker declaring "Surrender
to Love," and I spend thirty miles
of awkward lane changes
and bleary road signs
trying
to forget how.
- January 29, 2012