Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Eskimo Kisses

Eskimo Kisses

Tuesday, February 21st, 2006, 8:43:03 p.m.

I noticed
as I walked up Washington Avenue
through the night
and toward the old theater
that my neighborhood
was sleepier than usual.
There were few people
and fewer cars
on the street
with it’s thick coating of ice.
An unusual brand of near silence
filled the city's empty spaces
Making things quiet as a "hush"
into personalized declarations.
Every ice-covered branch and twig moved silently
and stiffly
making tiny
crystalline sounds
as they tried to rub together
like a chapped hands in the dry wind.
I was left with the impression
of something between
the tinkling of a music box
and the crackle of glass
just after
an automobile accident.
It began to lightly, very lightly snow
and a single flake
(barely cold enough to exist)
fell on the tip of my nose
and tickled a bit
as it melted.
I looked up into the falling flakes and grinned
that touch
reminded me
of my childhood
and the way
my mom
was so fond of giving
Eskimo kisses
when I was small.