The outside mat is frosted
honeycomb crystals
that crunch beneath my feet
I walk to the birdfeeder
top up the seed, to cause
a temporary scattering
the birdbath is frozen over
I tap it with my fingernail
enjoying the small tinny echo
one of the cats emerges
from underneath the laurel
an orange shock against the snow
I pour some cat food into his bowl
the sound dulled
by the thin air
the postman rings the doorbell
It can’t get any colder!
Let’s hope not!
I am alone in a postcard
a fairy-tale scene
I am alone, but I know
that later, my daughter and I
will blow misty puff breaths
pretending to smoke cigarettes
I look at the sky
slate grey and interrupted
by a high-flying buzzard, who
when it looks down
must see
only white
December Again
Steve Denehan lives in Kildare, Ireland with his wife Eimear and daughter Robin. He is the author of two chapbooks and four poetry collections. Winner of the Anthony Cronin Poetry Award and twice winner of Irish Times’ New Irish Writing, his numerous publication credits include Poetry Ireland Review and Westerly.