Edges of snow drifts are sharp
aquiline smooth until they fold
into the flat glistening field
before me, the tangle of normal
life lingers in the shadows of bare trees
lacing the blank white surface.
Three blizzards have encased us
within dazzling whiteness
and vicious cold winds.

Like the lash of ice on our faces
while shoveling a path out
in the rages of an ending storm
we grate against each other
feeling trapped inside
while the plows outside breakdown
heating oil trucks get stuck
and we pray the lights stay on.

Safe, warm and irritably
we are blessed to be here
and not in a lonely farm house
out west, w/ snow fenced ranges
lost cattle, a blank range,
not lost as the homeless we don’t see,
Here where tree shadows dance the snow fields
plows pile up snow mountains
round ruddy bundled children slide down.

Kent Bowker 2/16/2015