Outside my window: No! The Flakes of Hell!
(Yes, I’ve read Dante, so I know that Hell
Is cold.) The pride of my New England birth
And heritage is humbled. Leave my big
Kid snow boots by the door and look for me
Beneath the bedclothes. That’s where I will be.
All right, it’s really nothing. So few flakes
The camera on my tablet captures none
Of the descending argent, so few flakes
They hardly rate the designation, “dust.”
So far, so good, and hardly worth the woe
Which rises in me at the sight of snow.
I’d like to blame you, God, or at the least,
Infer a parable to guide my life
From these soft frozen crystals, but I know
That it’s not all about me. Weather comes,
And as a human who contributes to
A change in climate, I contribute, too.
No lesson, then, nor radical despair,
Unless I seize some comfort in the thought
That I can cope. This straw will not destroy
This camel’s back, nor will this snow, for God,
My God, the One who strewed this stuff around
Is also Who can clear it from the ground.