Interior

by Lorene Lamothe

Now winter is a blue bowl, red blocks,

light that shines familiar shapes.

If it snows

we can watch the fire weaving its colors

or climb a ladder of numbers

until we reach the tips of the universe

where planets sit round the stars and tell stories.

Now life has settled over us, and the past

is only a pond that's frozen

in the base of a spoon.

If I want to

I can skate across its surface

and come to the other side of regret.

Originally published in Willow Review