The alphabet needs additional letters for terror

No one loves to whistle more than this iced wind

Some midnights in a full moon the light on the
        ice and snow can blind me

Even my cotton clothes squeak very loud
        while I sleep

I have never been welcome here on Earth

The monstrous radish-like hatreds and fears
        of humans

Sometimes at night I hear them again

A telephone ringing   News of  tomorrow’s
        funeral

Coal cars slamming together at midnight

Sometimes a telephone ringing is a thread of
blue electricity down the spine

Miller’s voice telling me of Frank’s handgun

Not my brother’s voice   Not the sound of a
        shotgun shell

The voice of a nurse describing the hammer
        breaking each window of my daughter’s
        Toyota