ice is buried under the snow now

The old man said that a baby was once buried alive in the ground where the house stands. The house where three people have died, one of a drug overdose, two by hanging.

The airport fog light shifts back and forth across the iced river like a search light. I ask that the souls of my friends be with God as the light dips low into the snow. A man with a headlight walking his dog asks me if ice exists past the stream on the trail. His face is a shadow shining light at me so I concentrate on the snow.

The old woman said today, you look like a woman of God and of the earth. Maybe you’ve thought of being a nun. But in your face I can see loss. Like maybe you lost someone close, like your mother, as a child. I can see you are good, but you need someone to love and understand you, there’s loss in your face. If you don’t go to church and are a free spirit, that’s okay because the Indians prayed to the earth. God loves you even if you don’t visit him in his house. God wants us to show each other spiritual love.