Alicia Ostriker




Snow Day

Today the old woman feels like making a fool
of herself in front of her husband and kids
and grandkids who are all taking off to ski
in the nice fresh glittery powder while she
does dishes and sweeps so before they pile
into the van what does she do she runs out
in her hat mittens boots and runs a big
circle in the white drifts of the yard then falls
backward in the middle and makes snow angel
wings with her arms—she thinks time enough
for dignity when I die yes right they laugh

Black enough cold enough odorless enough
motionless enough in her jacketed layers while mud
iced into needles girdles her in its imprisoning steel
fingers the dry bulb struggles to lay to rest
that memory of a dark red life while above her
wild snow is swirling like Isadora’s shawl
like a Scriabin étude irresistibly white
and as night descends and as she tries to sleep
shadowy flakes fly sideways in streetlamp light
traffic slows we feel that mysterious peace
of an evening snowfall but the bulb is cold

When the sun lifts off and paints the snowy glare
bright fuchsia we are already harnessed panting hot
with desire the hearts in our chests aroar the lungs
pulling in icicle air ten of us yapping my dear cousins
lined up elated we were created for this born
says the dog to run hundreds of miles across
the white Alaskan wilderness man we are strong
each of us alone can pull twenty times our weight
trained together we are invincible
let this heavenly snow keep coming thinks the dog
to be banded together with friends is to be free