Anonymous, ’24. Poetry.
Snow
It’s white, fluffy, and fun
Each snowflake is content with its individuality,
Its strength grows as many just like it unite,
And suddenly, they become snow.
a mountain
Towering above the neighborhood
People stare
With disgust
Disdain
Despair, even.
They see the manual labor it takes to
Clean out their driveways
Shovel through paths
Of old, muddy grime
Start their 2006 Nissan Quest,
Which stopped liking the cold years ago
Others stare
With delight and
Desperation
You could call these folks childish, sure
They couldn’t imagine anything other than
Diving face-first into the wet, biting cold
Laying in it, playing in it
Wrapping it in hats and scarves,
As if it didn’t need the cold to survive
And that, somehow, it would last forever
Snow
Doesn’t get the chance to be
Just a snowflake
For longer than a few minutes.
Wherever it lands,
Whether it’s destined to be run over
Turned to slush
Or pleasantly suffocated,
Until it turns back to water,
Snow lives as a snowflake,
Only until it lands.
I think I might go back inside,
My mittens have frozen over
And someone’s calling me
From the right window
On the second floor
redinkmag 