weatherman

when will you become snow?

i felt the rain getting lighter

each drop deploying parachutes--
disembodied wings of geese--

whose winter are you flying towards?

wet against my red jacket
under a grey night sky--

stars burning under the 
oily face of the moon--

was that you underneath my
blankets?

hot & headlight melting--

traffic singeing our bodies--

i stood in the 
supermarket parking lot 
last night 

as i texted you 
that i'd gotten
home safe--

i think you were already 
asleep--

the world smelled metallic--
like ice & screw drivers

they're calling for 
4-10 inches

i feel it up to my neck--

i feel like i won't
know if i really love
you till i say it a loud

& i wish i was 
brave enough to be 
trapped inside--

tell me-- 
did you look out your
window to check 
the progress of the rain?

did you feel yourself getting
lighter? 

getting ready to fall--

red balloons & stop lights
in your lips--

i wish you would fall 
into me-- a handful of bolts
& bottle caps--

a downpour of mouths--

your teeth grazing sidewalk--

each ivory sky scraper--

puncture the moon--
bleed asphalt & rock salt--

i keep a pair
of scissors in my
back pack to shatter 

the walls of snow globes-- 

& earlier today when
i talked to my father on
the phone he said that
he wished he was a weatherman
so that he never needed to 
be right--

i want to be a weatherman too--

stand with me tonight
in front of the green screen--

let's predict a cold front--

let's stand in the lawn
& measure the snow fall
with a yard stick--

do you remember that year it
snowed in october?

or that year we had off from
school for nearly a week?

no? sometimes i forget
you didn't grow up beside me--
i imagine us small--
snow to our waists--

i kiss you & we turn
into snow flakes--

i miss that excitement 
that the world could end-- 

even if only
for a few hours--

when i got up this morning 
i opened
the window to listen 

to the clouds rip
out their children's feathers

leave tinsel in the nest--

you said you're allergic
to down-- the kind
used to stuff pillows--

my mother was too--

for you i'm rejecting
the metaphor of snow & feathers--

this snow is glass--

chandeliers snapping their necks--

i wanted to ask you 
if i could be your weatherman--

if you could trust me 
to read your precipitation--

foot prints in your body--

thumb melting through
your collar bone--
i'll guess that someday 
we could be a 
terrible storm 

the kind of storm 
children 
pray to 

i feel you getting
lighter--

dying in street lamps
& driveway--

your body just like
every other snowflake
i've ever loved into water--

where are we going
to put all snow?