::

Though it was December
and Wisconsin,
it only rained when I came home.

The clouds hung like wet towels
draped from the sky
and the fog wrapped around the house.

Inside, too, it was not winter.

The Japanese beetles that had been coming
for years
did not know they should be sleeping
and crawled over the ceilings and walls
and under the covers
to find my skin at night.

Even my parents festered with the strageness,
thickening and unraveling
long buried sadnessess that turned
their faces to the wan light
with shame and anger.

There was no cold restful slumber here,
after the cancer treatments were laid to rest.
Only saturated shrubs and grasses,
rich in brown, green, and confusions.
And hard shells with humming wings.