1
          I remember my mother toward the end,

folding the tablecloth after dinner
          so carefully,
as if it were the flag
          of a country that no longer existed,
but once had ruled the world.

2
          7 A.M. and the barefoot man

leaves his lover's house
          to go back to his basement room
across the alley. I nod hello,
          continuing to pick
the first small daffodils
          which just yesterday began to bloom.

3
          Helicopter flies overhead

reminding me of that old war
          where one friend lost his life,
one his mind,
          and one came back happy
to be missing only an unnecessary finger.

4
          I vow to write five poems today,

look down and see a crow
          rising into thick snow on 5th Avenue
as if pulled by invisible strings,
          and already
there is only one to go.

5
          Survived

another winter: my black stocking cap,
          my mismatched gloves,
my suspicious, chilly heart.