This is a photo of an icy tree on the way up to Mt. Rigi, which is between Zurich and Lucerne. After being offered the month of January in Switzerland and accepting, I remembered a poem I had written a year earlier. When I read it again, I had chills from my eerie prediction. Written from the prompt: "what are you afraid of?",

of being

Supermarket cold

more than of being

in Switzerland by myself 

in winter

of being 

Good...

at Spanish

of not Being

understood

Pretty weird. And from "Supermarket cold" came another, which I wrote while living in RI:

shopping for one

oh Lord have me

Mercy says with her finger

printing the door

of the supermarket freezer

shivering at the way

he always ate oatmeal

around the edge

then down the center

she's scared she'll remember

scared he'll forget

this grocery list

of what she needs

isn't what she'll get