An Uninterrupted Weekend

Suddenly, the birds stopped

by like neighbors

with frozen beards,

huffing puffs of breath

into arctic air on the porch.  

They flit about

as if holding a hot blueberry

pie, steam rising from the star

cut crusted top.  

I walked to the door,

reached for the handle

and then decided, no,

no visitors right now,

not this weekend,

not while the top of the lake

is frozen and the coffee

is about to finish steeping.  

Sometimes silence is loud

in the winter, louder than it is

in the city, louder than the birds

of my mind, who I keep ushering

South.  Sometimes silence

is so loud it makes my teeth hurt.