The early snow began with a thin drizzle
and Joyce watering the artificial flowers
in the living room and on the sun porch,
so Leeland knew right off he couldn’t leave,
go to the public library for a respite
or stop by the liquor store for provisions
By then he’d already lost two of his five goldfish
to blue herons deep diving into the fish pond
he’d built between the patio and flower garden,
helplessly watched them rise slowly into the dusk,
expensive goldfish squirming in their pointed beaks
Great wet flakes hung the air a gloomy white,
covering the pond and crowns of the ash trees
He so wanted for Joyce to sit with him
a minute in the late November afternoon
as they always had,
sip brandy and gaze at the goldfish swimming
in the froth of their homemade waterfall
one last time before the winter freeze
When he heard her firing up the Buick,
he ran to the garage, grabbed the keys
and hid them in his sock drawer
She escaped to the dining room to empty
the heirlooms from the dining room curio
searching for Aunt Sarah’s cookie platter
to toss through the kitchen window
The snow kept falling, falling
into the night and he had to wonder
what she was doing hiding again
behind the coats in the guest closet,
what the last three goldfish were thinking
in the darkness under the ice