he wondered all winter, and so did i

He wondered

all winter

what her hair

must look like

underneath

the fake fur cap

she wore tight

over her ears

from September on,

when he first arrived,

with the red

and yellow branches.

Taking

handfuls of hay

for the animals,

was it also so dry,

also this thick,

yellow, fermented,

drowsy.

could he, too,

chew as a cow,

on its edges?

Or pulling up

palmfuls

of the dead weeds

beside the deer fence

post, was it wet

and circular,

tight, rooted

into her head

like long, brown veins?

Would it circle

his thumbs,

up his forearms?

Could he band

his elbows with it?

The March day

gave

an infant sun.

He sported

thin shoes,

feeling this warmth,

he sought her.

She filled jars

with water,

outside the house,

her ankles bare

so her shoulders

her neck, there,

solid, skinny.

He hid

behind her

hat, just as

stubbornly pushed

on to her temples

as during

the early snows.

He saw her

otherwise naked,

no matter:

not the water

at her ankles

not the eyes

of animals

and other hands,

only the motion

of his wrist

towards her

head, as he tore

the hat

from it.