Tamsen Donner

On the sugar bowl, the goat is still laughing on a green hill. 

A weak flame wings me to the spirit side 

of my Newburyport childhood, sucking on button 

candies and cubes of maple sugar. 

Woke up this morning and cut my foot on ice. 

The midnight-blue gingham dress is missing. 

Stems in the stockpot for the family. No time 

for the intimacy of looking outside and feeling 

alone. What was so important last night that I was sure 

I would remember? Got such bad frostbite 

we didn’t know our toes 

had caught fire. Stupidly, we chose 

the Hastings Cutoff. A gray, weeping fog. 

You must promise to love your body like your dog.