Winter walker

20 December, Lancaster PA



A long stage of clouds is drawn across the sky by legless horses. I wave. We are on different journeys. They do not even nod.
My dream leans against my leg not unlike the opossum in New York. I wish it could talk to me. To feel its warmth against my leg would at least tell me that I am not entirely forgotten on this road where the few trees that remain hold hands underground. It would be something to rub against if this dream could just lean into me.
Citrus fruit in perfect roundness roll in front of me. A basket from an open truck? At least it's not turnips again. As I lift a ball of perfect orange sugar, I know that it will not be mine. Everything is as frozen as a tomb to include this fruit. I eat a broken peanut butter cookie I was given towns ago, while waiting on memories to trigger. Nothing fires. On this bank of snow, the world vapors past with bound trees hugging their new owner's automobiles desperately afraid of falling. I am in a painting of baby blue, white , and green. I chew dry crumbs, waiting on spit and flavor.
A police car pulls up with lights strobing the snow. My feet take me to the car. Everything is too loud, voices, lights tuning on the roof of the sedan clicking like plastic sleet. The card comes from my pouch. The snow's reflection turns my eyes to sand. I blink alot, but my words are on stiff legs of their own.
Someone saw me sitting in the snow as they drove past with way too many cheap minutes left on their cell phone. They called 911. The officer is calling hotels now that I will never go to. I nod instead of yes so many times I'm beginning to match the sound of the lights. "It'll be below zero tonight. A north eastern is heading through, with eiught to ten inches of snow. Your going to check into this place right," asks the uniform leaning toward me? A native song has been in my head for six days. I know ten lines. They get louder now. His lips keep moving but i can't hear what he's saying.
"And the river is open to the rightous, and the river is open to the rightuos..someday... I was walking, with my brother, and he asked me what's on my mind? I said, what I see with my eyes, I feel with my heart, I can't turn my back this time...I am a patriot, and I love my country because my country is all I know. Want to be with my family... or people who understand me..and I've got nowhere else to go.

The right amount of words in the right combination have left my mouth. The cruiser moves into traffic. I start singing louder, looking back up at the clouds. " I was walking with my sister..."

A truck drives by with a face I've never seen. The horn bounces ahead of it as the window cranks down slow and hard. A man yells into the artic air that makes his eyes tear even though his head is on its side to squeeze out the window, "WHIIIIIIIITECROOOOOOOOOOOOW!" In a turn of his wheels he is onto another road, but my feet are warmer. Somebody somewhere mentioned this winter walker to this stranger. This is all he could afford to give. I smile as my ears touch my name over and over, measuring length and height. "Thank You", I mouth but my ears are busy so I don't know if I thought it or said it. I turn into my pack straps just like putting on a 65 pound coat. In my mind I move little things from here to there so I will not wander where my spirit is weak. Kicking wooden fruit ahead of me I follow the smell of woodsmoke still hearing my name.