from The Long Haul

The Ice Dam

I cannot see the tiny white lights
of the cross atop the water tower.
The lights that burn faith
until someone remembers to turn them off.

I’m feeling that need again,
the one where ego takes over
and ambition becomes selfishness.

Sleet pelts the window;
the laundry room ceiling drips from 15 places.
I’ve run out of buckets
and resort to the blue tub we wash the labs in.

You’re shooting pool at the Casino Bar, and
I worry that you’ll total my truck
as you did yours,
on Missouri Road between National Mine and Palmer.
Seven trees were sacrificed before the truck
Slammed into rock;
The only warning the slight shift
as the back tires swung left.

Is this how my mother felt,
drinking Popovov Vodka
to melt resentment,
an ice dam formed
supporting her husband?

Holding a lemonade pitcher,
I count the drops falling like heartbeats,
and wait for headlights
to slice through the storm
and turn up the drive.

 Copyright Kim Nixon

The Long Haul is a collection of poetry that you will not find in chapbook form (yet). The voice is the reflections of a  wife during the first years of her husband’s search for employment in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and his choice to eventually become a over-the-road truck driver. The work is by Kim Nixon and is highly autobiographical and feels like a lifetime away now.