Published in 'The Bellingham Review', Vol. 14, No. 2, Fall 1991  

To prove independence
she keeps a log of measures:
First winter measured by the mare's white breath
by the snap of withered alders, her youth
by one leaf riding the wind, green.
The space between sleeping cats on the loveseat and
loneliness: finally immeasurable. Nightmares,
her son sneaking in past curfew, the pause
between his footsteps, solitaire:
the depth of patience.
Rain collecting in a champagne glass
propped outside the window, spills out
a measure of certainty.
Turning her back on the moon, her shadow
embracing the last alder, the snap
inside, her own voice:
solid proof.