Drift, after Souster’s “The Six Quart Basket”
 she watched snow fall
 a bushel cracking
 its rounded wood agape,
 collecting winter’s fruit
 her children sang another
 silent night
 caught in seasons
 away from chores
 beckoning back to boiling pots
 and baking chops—
 not imagining,
 one day her frozen face
 in photos,     captured,
 trembling body,
 its own surprise of winter:
 a fragile oak leaf
 scatters fringes
 across a broken basket
 mute, alone
 slowly filled with snow

© Renée M. Sgroi, 2016

This poem won an Honourable Mention, and was originally published in   
The Banister, Niagara Poetry Anthology, vol. 31, 2016
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