A Future

A sharp wind

pries at the doorjamb, riddles

the wet sash. What we don't say

eats in.

Was it last week?

Wsat at the fireplace, the four of us,

reading Huck Finn. I did the Duke,

you the Dauphin, the kids

tossed pillows in the air.

We owned that life.

There's a future loose in my body and I

am its servant:

Carrying wood, fetching water.

You spread a hand on my stomach

to feel the dark

dividing.

The hand listens hard.

And the children are practicing

pain: one finger, quick.

Through the candle flame.