First Night
Snow rolls down the mountains, unravels itself like yarn
against the foothills. It’s April, did I say that? April,
and we pitch our tent in snow! Hands shoved between thighs
for warmth, the furthest thing from sex. Our sleeping bag shared
with sweater-swaddled laptops–please don’t freeze.
I like the simile in that first line; where were you at this point in the trip?
In the foothills of Alberta. Brrrr!