On my hill I remember teeth.
The winter house cracked.

Cockroaches came from dark rivers.
The town exhausted its salt.

Love made bruises, drawing up
the blood like poison from bees.

We are never going to make it
through this winter, this winter,

everyone said. No one used glasses,
only jars. He bit, then apologized.

Schools closed for days. Roads
closed for days. The fire truck

blocked the mouth of my street.
I went to sleep with light spitting.

I bought ice grips.