spring, freezing

bringing in the last of the boxes
i moved with, ten months ago
nearly slipping on march ice
that threatens to make love to april
i uncover a few bottles of shampoo
that i bought on a shopping trip to a health food store
with my echoing wound of an ex-lover
in his dying GMC jimmy
one year back.
shampoo,
and an extra ratchet strap, still packaged
from a day when i searched forever
looking for a lost rope
to tie up a boat
that threatened to keep me and
my newest wound locked in harmony
for at least a few more hours.
eventually we bought a new one
and found the original exactly where we thought it had been
so i kept our purchase
and he took the old one all the way to california
where he unpacked his boxes quickly,
learned to say the word "home,"
scarred over more quickly than i,
and forgot about the march ice
that stubborn frost
that teaches who to make love to,
and how