under this snow

there's a shovel in the pantry and one in the barn
but how do you get from here to wherever
there's tea-tree oil sweat in everything i've touched
on a monday or wednesday or thursday
although i should know better, i drank cherry beer past 2 am
after a deadline, it's less alone when you straddle timezones
then i dreamed of homework, then of snow piling up,

of reference pages, the next assignment,
silverfish chewing on silken skirts, avocados rotting on the sill,
how light hurts, how i have to bribe myself
with a latte to get out of the house, but for that i'd have to be up first.

la deneigeuse, at some point, blinked and snorted
the neighbour crunched down stairs
the garbage truck made a siren-y pit stop
someone pinged me on skype twice then gave up.
i've been telling people in my life how i need just this one quiz to pass
just this snow to melt, and a new pair of sunglasses, and two floral dresses
and for them to be proud of me, though what for -
i've been retelling myself the same half chapter for the 27th time
then the bells at notre-dame-du-rosaire toll noon again
then i roll on the other side
and I dare Omar and Arya to disapprove.