Like That

An enormous snow-covered branch
is threatening the living room.

An enormous tanned branch 
with snow like heaps of table linens
or the clumped, white language of animals
juts into the living room.
A pile of dead oak leaves stands 
in the doorway. If I walk into the room, 
snow will ruin the somber furniture. 

Across the dining room table
and under the cheap glass chandelier,
across the empty space for the Sunday roast
and the doily, my sister, brother and I are cross-country skiing

when a giant embroidered
chickadee
crosses the room
putting a word in my ear.