Firewater

Back door, old house,
snow melting faster
than paper burns.
And some child is
running in the woods.
He is at my side now.
Kissing my face,
holding my hands.
Bitterly cold, he
half naked.
I lead him to the
couch, lay him
down, smother him
with my body.
Kisses, apologies,
promises…forgotten.
Ghost.
He melts through my
veins like firewater.
And passes through my
soul as winter does.

Twenty years ago this autumn, the University of Baltimore's literary journal, Welter, published my first poem.