bring yourself stumbling home over twisted ice

Sometimes you have to take your own hand 

as though you were a lost child 

and bring yourself stumbling 

home over twisted ice. 

 

Whiteness drifts over your house. 

A page of warm light 

falls steady from the open door. 

 

Here is your bed, folded open. 

Lie down, lie down, let the blue snow cover you. 

 

[Louise Erdrich {1954- } 'Grief', from Original Fire]