Marilyn J Baszczynski

Tonight it begins to snow,
snow that makes children shriek
as they run to windows in pajamas,
and fills their dreams
with sledding and snow-days.

I stand on the porch as
a squall swallows everything in sight,
until only huge snow-bumps,
snow-cars, snow-trees, snow-houses
remain in its wake.

There is no sound as the world
adjusts to its dampered heaviness.

Morning sun will metamorphose
this night’s melancholy. My children
will run outside like clumsy geese,
flapping arms, upturned faces catching
drifts of sugar in wide-open mouths.

For now, the fall of snowflakes
fills the space inside my head
until my thoughts are stilled.