Winter Time Love

Loss moves mountains even buried in snow. It’s a seasonal
show for the living, dressed in trendy black. Bring your dead
it’s winter time, love. We are never alone.   

I have support of a hospice worker or so-called Death Doula.
She can make you eat distraction like M&Ms. You guffaw at
her gallows humor. I am so impressed, Jesus, she cooks dying
like microwave casserole.  I eat it with bad manners. 

We are convinced he’s talking to Elvis, who somehow learned
to croon on the ceiling. He loops a hunk, a hunk of burning
love. Unimpressed, the Doula says the funeral director will
help me bathe and groom the deceased now nameless, all
because time grows death like weeds. She has other calls. 

When done, I close the laced window, his melody gone. Even
the wind has had enough of my father’s song. It’s winter time
love, rusty crepe paper lyrics guiro leftover leaves until dawn.  

Someone light the damn fire we need a pyre to burn the
kindling of guilt and indifference, or just because it’s perfectly
cold. Ashamed for living, I squeeze tight into a costume
midnight, conjure tomorrow Mardi Gras––don a Fat
Tuesday mask. 

DAN A. CARDOZA

Dan A. Cardoza’s poetry, nonfiction, and fiction have met international acceptance. He has an MS in education from C.S.U.S. Most recently, his work has been featured in the California Quarterly, Cleaver, Coffin Bell/2019 Anthology, Dime Show Review, Entropy, Five:2:One, Gravel, New Flash Fiction Review, Poached Hare, and Spelk.