Close Call

It was anger’s shadow dimmed the room
as a shift of wind destroys the promise
of sun, where cold creeps in like treason,
snow bursts through the cloud’s floor, air
in doorways whistles a harsh warning.
We disowned tears, joined hands, kept
the fire burning. While I swept out
the gray remnants of a quarrel, you stood
by a white sink in a blue apron, peeled
red apples under a yellow light and we
forced the storm outside where it
belonged.