Pass
By David Howard
(for Ella)
The cart is over-
loaded with snow.
More hope of a letter from the dead than sun
on the runnels. We can't make up
our minds, divided
between a night by the fire, a night
out drinking
snow. We know the new moon holds the old.
There is no heaven to fall
from. The driveway's potholes have gone
into white: it is forgiving, it is
not virtuous. But we love
being anonymous
here.
David Howard lives at Purakaunui but works farther afield
as a pyrotechnician. He is the recipient of the 2009 NZSA
mid-career writers award.
Correction: The author of last week's poem, The glorious
dead, was Sue Wootton, not Sue Wootten as printed. Many
apologies to Sue and to readers of the Monday's Poem
column.
