White​

Issue 14

She began to unwrap the white offering,
A butcher’s paper package with red string bow.
Delicately peeling back the tape, she revealed
A quaint box of thick-cut bacon,
A tube of her favorite Christmas sausage,
A wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread, and a half-dozen eggs.
He smiled sweetly to her when she looked.
 
As she turned for him to kiss her cheek,
She gazed out to the dusty white behind him
Streaming down from the black roof
Then eddying high in the breezeway alcove.
It was lovely, the sheer drapes it slung,
Billowing open to the neighborhood.
But the snow was drift not freshly falling, and soon,
Once the gusts tired out,
Settled again onto the crusted pavement
Like a snow globe’s glitter
Atop painted families.
 
She breathed deeply as she stood,
Wincing in her eyes at the top
When her inky ribs jabbed back,
And slid the cast iron onto the front burner.
She lit a match and turned the left knob
To start on his breakfast,
But she waited too long
To touch the match
To the burner,
So there was a loud
whoomp
When she did.

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Luke Reuteman is a part-time poet from Milwaukee, WI where he works as a hydrogeologist for the state. He’s best outdoors, where most of his poetry is written.

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