One Afternoon in January

I locked my keys in

when I took out the trash

and had to walk the chilly half mile

Under an endless blue sky

to work where my spare keys are kept,

I came back by the trail to Berta’s pond,

Where some of her ashes are kept

in the soil behind the bench.

I sat looking out at winter ducks

drifting on water accumulated from December rain

shining in the slanting sunlight,

until a breeze picked up, hissing through boughs

and the trees began to moan in their ancient skins.

I stood and strode away from the light,

My chest singing with pain

from deep breaths of icy air,

all the way up the hill

and then the two flights of stairs

to the lock on the eventual door.