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My mother sleeps in Chicago
the nursing home aide just looked in
on her and confirmed
I say goodnight
My sister drinks in Chicago
seeking another oblivion
quiet as a fist striking through air
I read the Tao Te Ching
in Portland pressing
the same ancient rut of words
worn like old shoes
trying to keep the snow out
or let a friend in
 
No one asked to be here
Everyone wants to stay here
Everybody wants to leave here
Mother and sister are not talking tonight
Son and brother walking through
their sorrows melting muddy snow
wishes for the first step of
Spring begins for some
And who decides when
The snow refreezes the stars tonight
I may ask the first witness
Can I please
always come  last

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Gary Aker’s work--poetry, memoir and sudden fiction—has been recently published in The Smoking Poet (smokingpoet.net) and Writers Dojo (writersdojo.org). He is proud as a duck's ASS to be included in this inaugural Night Bomb Press anthology.  Aker has been lurking around poetry venues through four decades. Pray for him.