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Tomorrow, Thin Ice, and Black Weeds

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Tomorrow, the thin ice on black weeds will shimmer in the sun.
Tomorrow, he will return in a metal chariot with barely a gas tank.
Tomorrow, I will go with my mom to see her father, and dig the dirt away from his tombstone.
But today...
...I sit alone by the window with a glass of tea and the fire dying low as I wait for the sun to rise.
Tonight, I listen to the house creek and the floors echo and the clock that ticks in the kitchen.
Right now, my hands fumble for the cellphone I left upstairs so I could be alone,
I lean my head back against this old leather chair and wonder:
How much time has passed?
I wonder if you missed your flight and won't be home until twilight.
I wonder what Mom has bought for grandfather.
I wonder how long until the rest of the snow melts
And just how unexpected the warmth will feel...
The sun begins to rise



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