Spun Words

Spinster's poetry...enter at your own risk

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Location: Oakland, CA

Bringing the stories back to history....

Monday, August 15, 2005

Snow Day

Soft white quiet beyond
the icy melting panes
of my bedroom window.
Warm grandma quilts
hot chocolate, the morning dies.
As the afternoon grows,
so does the village
of igloos and forts guarded
by portly snow people,
naked of all
but mother’s old scarf.
Evening blooms crimson, violet,
now black and blossoms of stars.
The scent of smoke tickles
the carroty noses of those pale
sentries forgotten already
in the rush
of lunch packing & evening baths.
the next day, melting
under the sun of the coming
weeks, months, years.

This is best read centered on a page, where it reminds me of a snowman.


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