The snow that was
this morning a white quilt
under which the grass
took cover
has turned
to a dirty pudding
of mud
the floor in front
of both our doors
puddles in spots
I didn’t know
were uneven
my son’s friend
lifts a ladybug
out of the slush
poor thing
she says
and places him
inside a stump
and we all
choose to believe
he is grateful
the hot chocolate
boils over
on the stove
and everyone’s socks
are wet
I put somebody’s apple core
in the compost
but it rolls off
the top
I look at it
for too long
on the floor
my daughter
quietly picks it up
and puts it back
in the bag
and I know
that ladybug
must have wept
for the kindness.