Back home, the cherry trees are blooming
the waterclock of the year has tipped over and spilled out spring
But 2,500 miles away my brother breaks through snow
thin scarf and canvas shoes a fragile barrier against the wind
visiting my sister in Chicago, red-faced and grinning behind the camera

In Hawaii my mother waits on her balcony
Watches the ocean 20 stories belows
Waits for the tide to fall back and up again
bunched around the clumsy fist of a tsunami

My father is sprawled out in bed
tv blaring unattended
crosswords and beer near at hand
the weather beats against the glass and falls back
heart-racing and dazed
one more bird on the lawn.