One Day Backward

Francine and Scott
did nothing today except love.

And cook me breakfast (it being
the first meal of the day constituted it
breakfast even at 2:00 pm).

I was lying in my bed in
the aftermath of last night,

staring periodically at the icicles
growing bigger and sharper
outside my window.

Everytime I looked, they were longer, stronger
(and I in my bed couldn't fathom moving,
I kept picturing the curve of the muscles on your arm
from the last time you were over).

I always think of icicles in terms of breaking,
snapping from the awning
and shattering to the ground

when maybe I should be thinking
of putting them in my mouth and tasting the cold
(the cold and the dirt from the awning).

"Get out of bed. We're cooking breakfast,"
she said.

"A real breakfast, bacon and eggs.
Get out of bed."