snow day

this morning, the sky faints pink, watery yellow, blue
and this damp cloth is pushing spilled coffee grounds around the counter.
i'm listening to a forecast that i'm totally numb to .
outside, my sparrow heart is trapped in a snowbank, fluttering softly and cold.
she was blindsided by the flurry of white from above
but i have no sympathy because she had warning.
the boughs had been groaning all night.
i'm washing a dish now, i've washed it twice, tinny radio news
has a flat effect on my face, i can't hide this broken rib much longer.
i keep pulling at the hem of my shirt, stretching it out, fatiguing it
the rib pokes out anyway and it aches purple, it aches black.
no amount of careful movement, no amount of gentle prodding
puts this rib back in place, it just burns there halfway between my gut and heart.
hey! you didn't owe me anything! and who would have been surprised,
everyone at that movie asked for a refund because the ending was so cliche,
and the starring roles were taken up by plain people
with predictable lines and worse, the camera work was shaky. amateurs.
the glamour was steam on the lens from the humid air
not the memory of some perfect night
not memory of compulsion nor the dimming of light. just hot air, all hot air.
i can't bend right
to sweep now and i hear the snow plow coming! oh, dammit.
i run outside to rescue my sparrow heart, deep inside i am tender towards her
even though she is stupid and careless and needs to be
taught a hard lesson. just not today.
i'm on my knees in an icy bank,
i'm scooping up handfuls of snow with raw red hands
it feels colder when my skin is hot from dishwater
and at the bottom, on patchy dead grass, there she lies still now,
still as an icicle, feathery chest lifts.
one glowing hand yanks at my shirt hem, it hurts as it pulls on a rib.
the other hand deposits her in the pocket of my spattered apron,
next to the crumpled movie ticket stub.
heat from the oven will revive her, i think.