night, crib, looking up--dim, still shapes (no words in my head then so make your eyes blur all this)
running gleefully down the plastic-shrouded hall in footy pajamas toward mom I'm so proud of you*
hands cupping the extruded rear tail light of a '58 buick making a tunnel to my face it's cold it's cold and so red
in the arms of an uncle I watch the face of an old clock, christmas tree lights haloing through the angel hair#
first snow, Fresno, 1962, so new I squeak and my feet sink through to the green grass--mom' and dad's push in white
*My mother much later confirmed this memory, shrouds because she was painting, proud because I hadn't wet the bed that night.
# Clock from 1918 Sears and Roebucks catalog.