My neighbors are morose at the village store

They stand square-shouldered, thick coated,

boot treads leaking dirty snow on the linoleum floor.

Storm after storm covers roads, driveways — more

 

than I ever thought possible. One day

drifts into the next, white on white. Customers

jostle each other in line, arms thick with bacon,

milk, wine, all the last minute items needed

before we are caked in again. Back home,

my feet sink into the unpacked snow, entering

the house each frozen step beneath me groans.

 

The flakes are fat this time, wheels of frost

that twist past my window. They fall

unheeded on the stream, a bed of ice

except where the water falls over stones

from the old dam, breaking free in one cold

moment, a flash of blue against all the white.

 

title taken from the poem High Water by Jane Kenyon

 

Published in:

Off the Coast, Summer 2015

 

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