Michaela A. Gabriel

how to prepare for winter


1
have a camera ready for mornings after
the night sky has breathed hoar frost onto
branches and sun spills patterns at the foot
of black trunks, splashes red onto cheeks.

2
stop cleaning your windows in september.
get used to milky views, clouded patches
to lessen the shock of perpetual grey.

3
choose five songs: one for bitter evenings,
another for days tempting you to dream of
spring, a third bleeding colours like aurora
borealis, one soft as snow, the last a lullaby.

4
put away all movies set on palm-fringed islands.
lush blossoms, gentle waves stir an unhealthy
appetite for a sun less distant, less cold.

5
return no phone calls, write no more letters.
save unused syllables in glass jars on the shelf,
bed punctuation marks on cotton wool. they'll
fatten up conversations, come december.

6
patch up your umbrella, impregnate boots.
scratch words of wetness from your vocabulary,
stop dreaming of clouds bursting overhead.

7
read beginnings in footprints on damp ground,
pluck endings from eyes on early buses, late
night trains, gather plots among rustling leaves.
let your stories hatch between bold pages.

december rules of conduct

1
this isn't the month for epiphanies.
the voice of reason is drowned out by
cash registers hyperventilating, noise
like a rattlesnake extravaganza.

2
do not start sentences with i could never.
lesbia didn't get into a poet's bed sifting
through her catalogue of inadequacies.

3
avoid the deli on the corner, that haven
for bored housewives who indulge in navel
gazing, interpreting bad dreams. you want
your cheese without beads of sweat.

4
don't try to communicate via smoke
signals. wet tinder, damp leaves are
all you need to put your foot in again.

5
paint pictures of the tuatha dé danaan
in a room facing westward. irish fairies
are no children of the devil incarnate,
no matter what the preacher says.

6
write a soundtrack for the end of
another year. dip your pen in assonance,
your voice in mellow whisky tones.

7
look for guidance in the pattern
of snowflakes. they needn't be real.
if you close your eyes, listen to static
on the radio, they'll be waiting for you.