In the Snow

A set of footprints, like a dotted line meant to cut my yard in half

hollows the fresh snow, either starting at my window  and ending at the back fence

or, more likely, the other way around. I’m not ready to think about that.

In the quiet of the kitchen, staring out into the fenced-in yard, I try to convince myself

that the footprints are actually just impressions left by rabbits

briefly huddled against the cold, but so many rabbits? Perhaps my yard

has become where the stray cats in the neighborhood congregate

but quietly, without fighting, just curled in perfect formation in my yard.

No, there is just no plausible explanation other than someone

some stranger walked across my yard, came up to my house

probably peered into this very window that I’m staring out of now

passed judgment on the state of my kitchen, the sink full of dishes

the cobwebs perpetually forming in the high corners by the stove

decided me and my house weren’t worth more than just this one look.