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