It must have been a child who shook my snow-globe world with careless jolts and jerks of whiplash followed by occasional aftershocks. I say that because of the lingering smell of pudding and urine, the universal permafrost of hospital floors.
On second thought, a dog batted my universe like a ball, sending it tumbling over and over and over and over, finally tossing me like a yule log upon a pile of snow. The beast’s slobber collects on my pillow at night amid fits of un-sleep and restless awakening littered with thoughts of things not done.
Did I set the alarm?
Should I call the gas man?
Why didn’t I speak as they rolled her into surgery?
Flakes of grief swirl inside my glass orb. They fall in piles behind my great-room windows, peeking in at the anorexic ember of a still-numb heart. What we saw – was it real, or a dream?
Where angels sing with anthems sweet while shepherds watch are keeping
Vintage memories flash in sweet relief upon the wall where slides of simple joys once advanced by the buzzing of a button and airborne dust danced in the spotlight of an atomic bulb.
I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know
The lace curtain dances from left to right and back in slender circles, a cyclone of thought and non-thought that must release the energy set into motion at the hand or paw of another that rests outside the confines of rounded glass.
I love you all the way from the top of the sky down to the ground where all manner of living things bow in reverence to winter slumber.
© Mitzi Viola, 12/9/18
Lost Corner Letters 
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