As we walk back to the shelter, even though it’s colder than ever and the wind pushes us along the sidewalk, we’re all dragging our feet. We know we have to get back by eight or we’ll be locked out, but getting back also means Daddy goes one way and we go the other.

Then, all of a sudden, Dylan stops dead in his tracks. He looks up into the streetlight. “Look!” he cries.

I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing. White, white feathery things swirling, cartwheeling down from the black night sky. At first there’s just a few, and I wonder if I imagined it. Then there’s more and more, like swarms of white butterflies.

Something wet and cold lands on my cheek. I gasp. “Snow!”

Dylan laughs. He runs this way and that, trying to catch the snowflakes in his hand just like he used to chase fireflies at home.

Mama turns her face to the sky, closes her eyes, and smiles a beautiful smile. “Snow.” She sighs with happiness.

Daddy puts his arm around her and, for the first time in forever, he smiles too.

We all look up at the wonder of it in the circle of light. Snowflakes swirling, landing, touching cheeks, noses, eyelashes like little kisses from heaven.

10

Listen, Baby Says

The smell of sadness surrounds Baby

inside the warmth of Jewel’s coat.

His heart beats in time

with her footsteps

as they walk up one street and down another.

Past the place where people sleep inside

not outside

like Baby and Jewel.

He can smell the longing in her heart.

“Listen,” Baby says, nudging her with his head,

“listen to the wind in the trees,

the song. We have that.”

Across the street, Baby smells the tumbledown

building

where they slept

when they first came to this city.

That memory leads Baby back to the feel of the

rocking bus

and the hum of the wheels against the road

as he lay curled

hidden

in the bottom of Jewel’s bag.

Curled up in sweaters, socks, a coat,

a little brown bunny missing one eye,

his favorite toy.

The old leather book that holds the smell of Jewel’s

hands,

the book she reads over and over and over

when she’s sad or afraid or

jubilant.

The smaller book she never opens anymore.

The light changes.

The cars stop.

A cold wind blows.

Baby feels Jewel’s heart shudder.

“Listen,” Baby says as he licks the wet, salty tears

from the deep furrows on his Jewel’s face.

“There is nothing between the world

and us.”

Baby feels Jewel’s heart lift.

She looks up into the street light.

She laughs,

closes her eyes

and spins in slow circles

as snowflakes wheel down and around them.

“Oh Baby, my Baby,” she sings over and over

into his waiting ear.

“What a wonderful world.”

The light changes again.

The cars creep forward,

tires spin,