Morning Poem, February 17, 2015



We are snug in the midst of the storm.

It seemed as if the snow would never stop

Falling through the day and into the night

And such cold as we rarely see in this country

That outsiders naively call the south.


But the walls hold and the lines are not broken

We have warmth and light and food

And college basketball

and watch the movement of this long and wide image

white, pink and green

bigger, even, than our State

Creep south to north, west to east

Across our computer screen.


There is no work tomorrow

So we watch the whole game

And after the last buzzer I go to the kitchen and see

That my job is undone

The trash is overflowing.

It’s midnight and seven degrees

And twelve inches of snow on the ground

So I must dress for this little stroll

Across the porch and patio

To the trash bins.

Boots, scarf, hat, coat and gloves

And the white bag pulled from the bin

and cinched tight

And I open the door and step out into this other world

Wild now, and extreme

I brace, thinking at first I will hold my breath

and have this done in an instant.

But with the first step I am mesmerized

By this cold, silent beauty

Nature’s proof, once again, that she is finally untamed.

If I am to stay dry, I must clear my path

And this cold snow, Rocky Mountain powder snow

Such as we here in the east rarely see

Explodes and vanishes with the stroke of a broom

Disappearing into the blue and black and midnight wind.

Beneath, the boards of the stairs are stiff and whine with my step

I clear the path, almost wanting to stay and know this mystery

To live in this new world where every evidence of human device

Is covered over

But I know my own weakness

And I shake the snow from the lid of the bin

And drop the white bag in

Kick the snow from my boots and dust my gloves

And go back into the yellow warmth.

Copyright 2015

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