The Snowcave

 What’ll come

Is not the same story, but as true as what was.

In my marrow, I tell stories, this one

Begins with snowbank Christmas lights

Wuffed out or winking under white

Round houses of snow without windows

Or doors.  Here’s a thing: your happiness,

Bound to you in signatures as in a book?

Maybe five signatures for a small hand

-Bound volume on acid-free paper, rather than one big

Fecking deal, like an industrial-bound single-signature

Glued, glossy, magazine,

It can’t get you through the day.  You have to choose,

You turn the pages, settling in,

Reading along;  it’s a different experience entirely

Than a feeling.  You make your way.

Maybe you have a purpose;

Maybe your husband is as worried as mine,

Only my boy with the fever and the girl-child are sleeping

Or sneeze-sleeping

Easy through the white

Overcoat winter has gotten on, just to shush the anxiety

Of Fall’s shivering back.

My sister’s son has asthma so

When he has a cold, her impeccable posture, her tight voice,

Her crystal eyes,

All say now, rightnowGodfixthis.

We all of us can’t be saints when we think we should be, only

When there is no fight in sight

Do we have room to glory Him.

Or, we dig, during the fight, to collapse the paper ice

We’ve been standing on too long. 

Owen built a snowcave today,

Stuck himself headfirst into the tunnel he’d burrowed

Into the bank, he was in up to his legs, backing out after an anxious (for me)

Fermata, with more snow in his hands . . .

Excavating with your whole body is the right idea: all that work

For a muffled place—that’s what they mean, yeah, by serene?

As if the traffic is a mile away, instead of way too way too close to your kids?

That’s what they mean, that even though you work forever to get close

You need a shelter that says, I can come in and you can’t.

Just shut up, loud and shatteringly precious world.

 

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