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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The squeak of rubber is the crunch of snow Under the steps of my winter boots As I walk through the Below Zero And when the day breaks The air itself is as white as if One is looking through mesh of a screen door The cold so cold it can be seen In-between Smells like candle wax on my sleeves The tree limbs criss crossed like milky yarn Unraveled across the sky And the tattle of thistle and sunflower seed Slides from my hands Down the silo of a bird feeder stand Stuck in the snow like a stake I leave this trail of food True For the finches drained of their color And the black-capped chickadees That sing and chirp despite it all A pitch of song that lifts the woods To attention Harassing the foxes That prance upon smuggling moles With their noses Always pointed toward attack Exactly to the North Pole No one knows how or why But can you imagine the divine advantage Those foxes have over the flesh and blood Of their tiny prey? But I am here for a certain squirrel That I’ve been helping all season I don’t know if he’s a young kid with a disability Or an old man on his last leg But half his fur fell off in December And his one hind leg Is as bare a bone as a devoured chicken wing It seems to stick straight up Stuck in position He can only drag through the deep snow And cling to the base of trees He’s half the size of others His exposed backbone wrinkled like a lizard Some days he doesn’t show up at all But other days There he is Surprise! Still struggling to survive Don’t tell me Creatures are not feeling and thinking Afraid of death and agony Or even dreaming of joy they once knew The best I can do With my own waning power Is to favor him With a simple toss of human compassion A kernel of chance And spend the day Watching through my window Wondering and worrying about him Living.
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