Freedom

Diamond shards tap the glass,

and wind whistles through cracks

in the window panes.

I resentfully pull on my boots

to shovel snow.

I call my 9 year old son,

"want to help me?"

"No thanks," he says,

wandering to his room 

to draw a treehouse

build an electric circuit

read Captain Underpants.

I wish I were so free.

But as I zip my puff daddy coat,

my father with his crooked back

steps forth from the darkened room where he sat,

looks into my eyes 

for the first time this visit and says,

"Son, I wish I could join you,"

then turns back into the dark.

I open the door and step into the night.

The snow slants across the streetlights 

and stings my cheeks.

Lightning flashes in the sky,

and thunder rumbles through the darkness.

I carve paths in the snow,

reveling in how

white clouds of powder fly

like angels.