THINGS TO TELL MOM

In the valley the mailboxes

are hung by chains

some of the people who pass us
have snow kissed cheeks 
pink as bank candy
there are small black insects 
frozen into the snow pack 
and a busty snow woman
guarding the rock beach 
I know what you’d like to know 
like you know when I’m mad
no matter how deep I burrow the heat 
because I want to be more than I am 
and more of what I am 
the original model

the one you labored into the morning
until they told you to stop trying 
hot heavy New York City springtime 
quacking creature who grew 
to lichen-line her pockets like you showed
and laugh like kindling catching
when the mood starts to avalanche 
out here the woods open up and the river widens 

where the suspension bridge 

made of the same trees that surround it
make you halt, recall 

all mishap, design, intention 

still trumped by earth herself 
because she bad, like my brother said
same May day plus thirty or so years
on some other evergreen ridge
where we shared chips and gatorade 
relished supplies after the joint blessed lifetime
of being fed so well by you 
down deep below the ripples salmon rest 

you can throw an ice ball into the ice river 

and it remains itself 

the willow tree in its fine white dusting 
beautiful as your hair, drying from the bath
you make us soup while we’re 

out in the cold,  sliding our feet 

in the corduroy tracks 
leave a note demanding we eat 
like one deep bowl could keep us 

and you
alive forever