When she slips on ice on the way
to her car, she breaks her ankle.
Cold, everyone’s boxed indoors
except for Mrs. Ott who often
cleans her living room window.
Wandawoowoo and she argued
about dust floating
from Wandawoowoo’s yard into hers.
Wandawoowoo tries to drag herself
back to her door. Mrs. Ott watches,
laps a vanilla cone, her eye caught
between Venetian blind slats—
Wandawoowoo’s hoarse voice
lost to snowy evergreens
and helpless mailboxes.