Snow

 Walking through a field with my little brother Seth

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.

For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.


He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.



Then we were on the roof of the lake.

The ice looked like a photograph of water.


Why he asked.
 Why did he shoot them.


I didn't know where I was going with this.


They were on his property, I said.



When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.


Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.

Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.

A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.


We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.



But why were they on his property, he asked.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...