Excerpt: Untitled

The neighbors black cat lay curled in a perfect ball staring from her favorite spot on the fence that separated our backyard from theirs. Her chin propped on folded paws, she watched me watching the fat, light snowflakes fall slow to the ground. It was dark already. I cradled a mug of black tea in my gloved hands, letting the steam warm my cheeks, thinking that teachers had it best, that two weeks off would be just what I needed right now. The moon hovered above and between winter resilient evergreens, illuminating the snow that had accumulated on the ground. One shriveled leaf clung to the apple tree in my back yard. Summer’s vegetable garden, was now a plant graveyard, the plants shriveled and brown like the leaf on a tree, two rotting pumpkins the only remnant of fertility. The porch swing creaked for oil. Sitting cross-legged, I leaned back and took a sip of tea, looked up at the sky full of bright stars, moon-soaked. I felt my breasts acknowledge the stars, the snow, the moon, and I felt grateful to be there, observing this assertion of nature: death is necessary, even desirable for things to be born, become new. I thought of how I’d felt sitting here almost exactly one year ago, on the first day of winter break that year, my eight winter break as a teacher.