January

Snow lies thin on the streets,
Don't know where snow ends
And ice begins.
Driving toward awkward conversations,
An icy stomach and hot cheeks.
I watch the streetlights;
Red, green, yellow
And red again,
More slowing us down than moving us forward.
The leather seat feels cold
As I try to warm my hands over the vent.
I move nearer to the destination
As our green SUV drives on.
With a sharp turn to the right,
A building bitter, but beautiful comes to view.
We park between a red minivan
And a yellow bug.
Wind changes to a grand room
Warmed by fire but chilled by sadness
Greeting friends with smiles is greeted by guilt
But it's not my fault.
I'm sorry still.
Idol chit-chat, meaningless
But with arctic undertones.
Walking through the line of mourners in black
To shake your hand.
I'm sorry, though it's not my fault.
Wordless as my turn draws near
I stare blankly at the green carpet
But it does not inspire.
"You're so much braver than I,
I'm here for you even though I've been gone.
I'm sorry." It's entirely my fault
That I can't say those words.
A nod and a hug,
Forgive my cold, red hands.