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A Poem Called Snow



Snow on snow on snow on old snow,

Pulsing hills of garbage (and snow),

Camouflaging black ice we cannot know.

Memories and butterflies and brown-outs are whited-out.

So are baskets of grilled veggies and wine coolers in the grass.

Snow reveals unseen journeys:

3-legged dog and his person on crutches;

Child’s glove divorced from its mate;

half-buried Metrocard pitched on its edge.


I will dance down the aisle in anything but white

And drink only red wine until too drunk for words,

And toss out frozen snow peas,

And root for Snow White’s step-mom,

And disown my love of snow leopards,

And call him Edward Whistleblower,

And listen to only 3 of “The Four Seasons”

And finally forget the English for

La nieva






About Amirh

Ever-evolving spirit moving about via body. I'm a writer and a an ever-evolving spirit in service of animals through my blog and Buddhist and Reiki practices. My blogs: and For more about me:

One response to “A Poem Called Snow

  1. Allin

    So glad I don’t have to put up with the white stuff, but you’ve turned the too muchness of it all and even the slush and dirtiness of it into beautiful poetry. You are a master!

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