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






The Winter Solstice — in Poetry

December MoonDecember MoonMay Sarton

Before going to bed
After a fall of snow
I look out on the field
Shining there in the moonlight
So calm, untouched and white
Snow silence fills my head
After I leave the window.

Hours later near dawn
When I look down again
The whole landscape has changed
The perfect surface gone
Criss-crossed and written on
Where the wild creatures ranged
While the moon rose and shone.

Why did my dog not bark?
Why did I hear no sound
There on the snow-locked ground
In the tumultuous dark?

How much can come, how much can go
When the December moon is bright,
What worlds of play we’ll never know
Sleeping away the cold white night
After a fall of snow. Continue reading