Prose Poem: Winter

Winter

Plastic over the windows, a Superman blanket strung up between the kitchen and the dining room.  Fingers red, pain when you touch anything, impossible to type.

The cats come inside and as time wears on, stir-crazy they go to war.

We play board games.  The school leaves the doors open on the swimming pool and our complaints mean nothing.

Scraping clear the driveway, nose running, face flushed with blood.  The dog disappears in the white expanse, too small to keep her head above water.

Tunnels dug into hillsides, sitting on the furnace, nightgown billowing around me.  The cat knocks the tree over again.  Pine needles fall like rain, and we sleep under mounds of blankets; the wind whips at the windows, but we won’t let it in.

Inside, the winter cannot catch us.