it's snowing,

again,

and through the endless endless white and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock

on the wall i halfheartedly wonder what the cardinal

in the bird feeder thinks of this.

My grandmother never cut flowers with scissors, raised her nonexistent eyebrows plucked beyond all veins of recognition, blinked one eye fishlike & said a knife was all she needed.

the robins outside my window don't care if it is sunny or snowing. we have passed the 20th and their wings are made of maple sugar & time.