by Carrie Albert
Crows loop above, free to steer
their own lines. The hill pulls
evergreens downward; branches descend
in long strands of earth-mother hair.
A leaf-slippery path leads
to a gathering of plastic tents, curtained
with tattered blanket insulation, mini-domes
blend into vines, roped to trees,
root-cling might hold them.
No one is home or everyone hibernates
inside, rich with time, and winter poor.
The closed doors flaps. Signs:
garbage bagged and scattered,
wheelchair-in-waiting, one pink slipper.
A hula hoop hangs on limb,
empty dream catcher.
Crows loop above, free to steer
their own lines. The hill pulls
evergreens downward; branches descend
in long strands of earth-mother hair.
A leaf-slippery path leads
to a gathering of plastic tents, curtained
with tattered blanket insulation, mini-domes
blend into vines, roped to trees,
root-cling might hold them.
No one is home or everyone hibernates
inside, rich with time, and winter poor.
The closed doors flaps. Signs:
garbage bagged and scattered,
wheelchair-in-waiting, one pink slipper.
A hula hoop hangs on limb,
empty dream catcher.
