In Minneapolis

I wake to neighbors

and their whistles

my boyfriend running 

across the lawn

and everything still frozen

I blink at the news

I nod with the talking heads

I get another poem in my inbox

from someone out of town

for Alex or Renee

people we mean

well my hands are freezing

I chat with a nurse 

at the bus stop

to stress test

the second civil war

I refresh the browser

what will men who moderate

the online encyclopedia

call it next year

in ten years

I’m looking for a goose 

down comforter

with high fill power plus

a purse fit for a man

of my stature

on television

the judge deliberates

my brother asks

I use all the hot water

my electric kettle fails

which remedy is

recommended by

the Times editorial board

my therapist sends

another check-in email

I walk out to

the front porch

the torn skin on my thumb

hasn’t healed 

all winter

I press record

a chickadee is chirping

in the soffit

nowhere visible

the time is not now

but later