The Usual Weather

The cold came back
like a box of winter clothes
nobody wants to open.
I'd expected better from the world,
though the world
had made no such promise.
Somewhere, a mouth closed
before kindness could get out.
But cruelty slipped through.
The leaves went red,
then let go.
Even beauty knows when to quit.

Squirrels buried their futures
beneath the dirt,
trusting the ground to keep
its mouth shut
and the thieves to stay away.
I walked home
with my hands in my pockets,
carrying nothing
I hadn't brought with me.
By evening,
the sky had turned
the color of dirty chalk,
and the whole damn day
smelled like a forgotten envelope.