The Engraver, first draft, in need of advice

Written by: Gracie Bawden

It snowed the day my mother taught me to engrave
 
She held a waxy green leaf between her mittened fingers
 
And mapped each yellow vein with her eager eyes
 
All filled up to the lashes with yellow


Scraping away the green, catching it under her fingernails
 
She found my name like some ancient code in its shallow skin
 
White winter sun tentatively fingered the letters
 
And the wind took them elsewhere
 
Towards the great grey clouds above


Meanwhile our feet lay planted to the ankles
 
In something cold and heavy.