Half of a Snowman

Poem written in March for my friend
who died in prison with leukemia April 20

A cold, cold day, and time for a walk.
Tiny patches of snow hold on to the brown grass.
The only sign of life in the neighborhood
Lies still, quietly proving its existence.
Two halves of a snowman that's forgotten but not gone.
His head vanished some time ago.
His two-snowball body remains, separated,
Occupying two spaces in his family's yard.
No children are playing with him.
No abandoned scarf or mittens lie nearby in half-frozen heaps.
He's just there. Both of him.
Chopped in two by the sun's melting glow -
Destined.
Don't worry, Mr. Snowman,
You know you'll be traveling soon,
Because snow becomes water becomes vapor.
I wink at him and walk on
Toward home.