I don’t know what you think of
when it snows
but as the cold fluff floats down
beyond my window
I am living in two Januaries past
moments frozen in time
like icicles hanging from bare branches.
I remember pizza frozen on the picnic table
beet and brussel-sprout soup in a stranger’s cabin
we could only reach by bounding through the drifts like bunnies
cold nutella smeared on bread.
I remember wet rock and a slick ride in the dark
peeing on the side of the road and laughing
at the headlights
your bare back as we lay by the fire
and slipped gratefully into the dark
behind our closed eyelids.
I remember the hush of the forest
all green and white and black bark
unbroken ground
the very air crystal
mist hovering in the gorge
forest and river more sacred than any church
I have ever seen.
I remember coming home to fires
and tea in the mornings
and how happy I was when you knew
just where to find it in my pantry
all by yourself.
I remember walloping each other with snowballs
slipping down the hill on a sled stacked three long
betting on who’d swim in the lake
teaming up to tackle you into the snow
the satisfaction of catching up to you
of hearing your laugh
in the empty neighborhood streets.
I wonder what you’re doing now
I bet you’re stealing trays from dhall
and sliding down library hill
there’s a snowball fight on the green
and maybe even frisbee with the crew
you’re still the fastest of them all
and nobody minds.
I’m still here
watching the snow fall
with a small sad smile
wishing I was with you.