The Engraver, First Draft, In Need of Advice
It snowed the day my mother taught me to engrave
She held a waxy green leaf between her mittened fingers
And mapped each yellow vein with her eager eyes
All filled up to the lashes with yellow
Scraping away the green, catching it under her fingernails
She found my name like some ancient code in its shallow skin
White winter sun tentatively fingered the letters
And the wind took them elsewhere
Towards the great grey clouds above
Meanwhile our feet lay planted to the ankles
In something cold and heavy.
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