foxfire

the winters on the property

are mostly a time for things to die

and aunt arie was no exception

my wife ree cried when she got in

the truck and it still smelled like hot

moss or i mean hell it smelled

like a body does when it's been dead

for twelve hours in the snow then thaws

on the passenger side on the long drive

to port townsend where it will get

turned to chalk

the night of the funeral the whole

family stayed the night there in town

even cousins from as far as twin falls idaho

we booked up seven rooms in the best western

which had free hbo and ree watched that

a while to get her mind off things but

i fell asleep right away and i dreamed

for the first time since the dream i dreamed

when i was fifteen falling asleep on the phone

at three am while poor ree just cried about

finding her dog dead under a red oak

and the dream i had while ree watched

a drama set in prison was the same dream

i had when she cried about her white dog

and the seasons were the same so in this

dream

it's snowing

i'm building

a log cabin

like the one

i built for my aunt

arie to die in

a room for her

and a room

for me and ree

so we could make

fires and soup

for her and maybe

live our lives there

but in the dream

i build with

human bones

a mass of them

in the clearing

snow stacking

on the bones and

my shoulders and

it's caked on my irish

setter boots

i break the cold

ground and dig

the foundations

to set the sills

i use mostly spines

then i lay the sleepers

down which i think I fashion

from legs and they will support the floor

nailed into place with locust pegs made from thumbs

i begin to hew and notch the bones with aunt arie's

old axe which i found near the stack of bones

the hickory handle still exposed though half buried

in snow and the snow falls now heavier and heavier and thicker

and thicker flakes fill the creases in my coat and i start to hurry

to get the bones hogpen notched and build up the walls faster

than the snow can bury them but the snow gets in my gloves

and within seven minutes i can't feel my hands and when i take

the gloves off my hands are red just the only red trembling in all that white and i go

to breathe warm air into them but can't feel anything come from my mouth

so i just get my pouch from my pocket and roll one and light it

with a match and don't have any trouble with that and i smoke without hurry

and the snow continues to fall but the cigarette i hold with the fire close to my palm

and i am warm and know well that there's no hurry and i take the time to wonder

where all these bones did come from and what will happen to me if the snow doesn't stop