SNOW POEM

As blank as this white screen

is the view outside my window.

Snow falling, snow blowing,

mounding higher and higher

on every surface.

Is it me? Or do you find

that the perfect whiteness

of a blank winter page

strikes up some anxiety?

As if we were still in school

and no matter that we didn’t

know what the hell we were

supposed to be writing,

we still somehow had to fill the

white sheet of lined paper

with our brightest ideas.

Today I stand beside the window

And force myself to slow

Down down down

to match the falling snow.

The only motion is that of

the flakes

pillowing 

in steep angles

 to the ground.

It being Saturday

There is

Nowhere to go

Nothing to do

Except fill the bird feeders

and build a fire in the

woodstove and read a book

or look out the window

or write poetry and

snap photographs of the snow.