by Jim Zola —
Dirty drifts hide in the shade
of shocked cherry weeping
beneath branches sporting buds
destined to not bloom. Snowmen
abandoned lose their heads.
Fat squirrels thieve acorn eyes,
noses from the once plump.
What’s left to see? My son asks
what we call the moon
seen during the day.
My answer — moon.
Sometimes the sun can make things look dimmer
especially if you look directly
into it
which I would do
if there were a sun to look into
but all I have is this grey
gloom mottled sky
with a hint of snow
like a threat
or sweet temptation
as if I’m standing on the edge
looking over
down
at the other me looking up
mouthing the word
jump.
Jim Zola has worked in a warehouse, as a security guard, in a bookstore, as a teacher for Deaf children, as a toy designer for Fisher Price, and currently as a children’s librarian. Published in many journals through the years, his publications include a chapbook—The One Hundred Bones of Weather (Blue Pitcher Press)—and a full-length poetry collection—What Glorious Possibilities (Aldrich Press). He currently lives in Greensboro, NC.