Painted arrows far below the tenth floor
Point right across the bridges.
Outside Mother's hos­pi­tal win­dow
A bliz­zard blots the soc­cer fields.

The river's dark gash curves up and away.
Double yel­low lines and train rails
Gird the waters, cross­ing past, present,
And future. Snow bees swarm,

Losing grav­ity in furi­ous gusts.
Mother coughs, says, "I am dying, I think."
Her pain drums my spine and gut, as
Coal cars chug then stop, heavy with snow.