Mark Salas’ Cabin

river in winter

The place is unavailable now-
Mark’s cabin on a small, steep road
We missed our first pass through
Until we found it, and the key in
The mailbox, wooden sleds in a
Bigger box, icicles hanging on eaves.
We stepped over the slick spot on
The stoop and made ourselves at home,
Snuggling our children and warming
Wet toes and assorted socks by the fire.
You or I found Mark’s note: “Wipe down
Bath window completely with towel.
Can cause costly damage due
To lack of ventilation!” We swiped
The mirror too. Then I baited squirrels
To the back deck railing with a dollop
Of peanut butter one of his spoons.
We watched the squirrels from the couch-
You and I, our two little girls,
And our beautiful bald-headed baby.
Not too long after our trip, it seemed,
Mark drove off some curve on a road.
We heard his family cleared out his cabin-
His place and his books wiped clean.

Written for Fireblossom at Real Toads


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