Christmas, 2004 / No. 13

No cloud, the drop of a penny, a sign from the sky.

Nothing stark as that would

mark this walk our last together—

nothing subtle either.

Not the wide-porch houses I had often

spoken of liking.

Not the bench in the park, the

sugar maple trees,

their leaves.

Not the woollen toque you brought

along in case of rain.

Except that I was longing for you to give it to me,

as tender—and thought that mere

desire would suffice.

Elana Wolff is a writer, editor, translator, and designer and facilitator of social art courses. Her fifth solo collection of poems, Everything Reminds You of Something Else, was published this spring. She has contributed to the magazine since 2000. Last updated winter, 2017–2018.