clinging to mail with both hands
in the face of a whipping wind,
i trek down long gravel driveway
making heavy footprints in snow.
my body is wrapped in layers
with only squinting eyes exposed.
mitten tugs on stiff metal door;
it opens with protesting creak
to accept offering of bills paid.
i brush out powder blown in,
make a careful deposit, slam
door and set red flag upright.
mailbox swings from its chains;
wind stronger, colder at roadside.
snow-dusted cows watch
curiously as i trundle back to
farmhouse, leaving fresh tracks.
later today, i will dress again
to repeat the ritual, hoping for
a handwritten envelope hidden
between all the advertisements!
a poem in my pocket 