Marla Kay Houghteling Harbor Springs, MI

Marla Kay Houghteling

To a Poet at Christmas

No snow. The septic tank’s cement lid
is exposed. Doves sit there,
circling the huge iron handle.
Chickadees zip from red pine to feeder
as if they just discovered sunflower seeds.
Nuthatches squeak up and down
the shaggy trunk.

In your hot hospital room
thin tubes swoop in and out of your body.
Your eyes are unshielded blue;
the nurse cannot find your glasses.
Beside your legs swaddled in white gauze,
stuffed animals crowd ‘round you.
A tiny artificial tree twinkles on the tray table

Come evening, the scent of sickness clinging to my hair,
I set a match to paper and kindling.
When the fire is hungry enough, I’ll feed it something larger
and wait for the stove to tick with heat.