You're somebody who deals in absolutes -- yes, no, or the way January's mild light means bitter flashback year after year. You clink your silverware, withdraw your hands when I look. I know you've been tearing the skin off your fingers, so why hide them beneath the table? You bow your head, wait for me to look away, out the window. (I do.) Winterlines blue and blur…. Maybe because it's too warm for the sky to darken so early…. I can see your face in reflection. You're about to re-clasp your knife and fork when you spot my eyes, at angle, in the glass. Your father once told you no one would want your hands, and though I'd like to, I can't hold them - those two cold knots you tighten beneath my palms. Once, during a thaw, he told you to keep wearing your mittens. "No one should have to see such ugliness," he said. "No one." Copyright © Daniel Gutstein http://www.unl.edu/schooner/psmain.htm @3Prairie Schooner@1 is a literary quarterly published since 1927 which publishes original stories, poetry, essays, and reviews. Regularly cited in the prize journals, the magazine is considered one of the most prestigious of the campus-based literary journals. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WINSOME WEE THING by ROBERT BURNS A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 63 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE DREAMER by SHAEMAS O'SHEEL A DREAM OF DEATH by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SEEING HIS OWN PICTURE by PHILIP AYRES |