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Ann Minoff Winter the morning tide captures drifting ice piles of meaningless resolve dragging back to the sea a parade of frozen white have I turned away from love again is it too late my mother is dying and like the river ice shaped by unseen forces another winter storm rolls past my window Unwind red and yellow leaves unwind    returning to their roots after they rise one last time wrinkled and brown flapping blocking traffic airborne on my windshield in my face unlike my mother’s hands curled inside themselves shriveled, bony she sleeps on my chest    holding on Open I’m looking down between my ribs a few incandescent memories that flash intermittently between radio announcements and Macy’s specials a continuous play of colorless regrets      love lost and all that a space of closed doors ©2014 by Ann Minoff Ann Minoff graduated from New York University with a degree in philosophy and continued her education at the National College of Chiropractic in Illinois. She received her Doctorate of Chiropractic in 1982. She currently teaches classes on Qigong and Kabbalah. Her work is forthcoming or has been published in The Alembic, Amarillo Bay, Blood Lotus, California Quarterly, The Chaffin Journal, Crack the Spine, The Distillery, Diverse Voices Quarterly, Emprise Review, Forge, Harpur Palate, Hawaii Pacific Review, Jewish Women’s Literary Annual, Licking River Review, The Literary Review, Lullwater Review, Nimrod, Pearl, Porcupine, Quiddity Literary Journal, Sacred Journey: Journal of Fellowship in Prayer, Spoon River Poetry Review, and The Write Room.

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