Morning Commute After the Ice Storm

At each tree's base, a carpet
of smashed ice, green in the young light
like broken Coke bottles. Concentric
circles around the trunk lead away
like melting waves, the shards
of crystal tinkling beneath each
creaking branch. There are
no trees in the graveyard, only
the wilted wreaths propped
against one illegible slab.

photograph by Tori Steffen

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