Go hoop

When winter withstands the skeletal
of Indiana's naked woods and the cornfield neglect
of soggy chaff and frozen scraps,

when inside the window of our house in Dyer
the walls resonate with childhood play,
that back then, you missed instead a more deserving quiet,

which alas has come to sit by the fireplace,
like trophies and family portraits of those passed,
who but for Kodak moments are near forgotten -

siblings, parents,
and divers sepia generations
to rural cemeteries banished

to the hush of impending blizzards...
You miss the noise of happy, voices,
and yet you know that such needs are mainly seasonal.