Melting

Like every Sunday, the bells from Old North.

Church bells of memory. Not for me, I swear, yet that hot

Icy day comes back, snowbanks soft, slow melt, sun-shot

Cold air, the gleam of our son’s carriage wheels, his eyes

Closed against the glare till John adjusted the shade

And David looked straight into the day.

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The John and Mim Poems is a portrait of a marriage and Miriam Levine’s gift to you.