Watching Trains by
the Lake in December
Keri Withington
Plastic pine needles litter the living room floor
two days after Christmas
hardwood strewn with wrapping paper scraps
spent sticky tape
those plastic tags from new clothes
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My son finds half finished coloring pages
the remnants of stockings on his bedroom floor
crushed candy canes, satsuma
the bone his dog never ate
Jared found her on the street, half-starved
shivering through a summer storm
I found her in the backyard
still wearing her pink sweater
I tell my son on a cold park bench
as ducks circle the lakeshore, hope for crumbs
train-cars cross the rusty bridge