Poetry of Kansas

The Window Closed to Snow

revealed a fox curled on cast gray ground,
full tail draped round,
pointed nose resting on paws
and brazen jet eyes judging
me. He disdained,
I think, my gaze mistook for avarice.
 
He told me he was his own fox. To wrap
myself in a blanket, leave him
to stretch and search
for a rodent fat on grain
spilled in the barn, or a rabbit,
white hiding under snow knoll
built on scrub oak. An egg
left alone for pecking time.
 
A cup of tea and down comforter
took me from the view to ponder
fate, the fox and smaller, soft eyed beings
searching too.

___Myrne Roe

 
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March 8, 2003 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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