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What is the word for the feeling of having thoughts that feel brand new but surely belong to some fancy philosopher, or of saying something you have said all before, in the exact same cadence and tone? What is the word for having all the same feelings, about 320 feels, for the whole of a tri-decade life? Is it the same as the word for the feeling that your bones might melt off your face as they thaw? Meltzschmertz?

Whatever the word is, I have that feeling tonight. The only thing saving my night now, from this horrific snotfest ans sinus infections is the snow. SNOW! The mountain opens this week. We have about 3/4 of an inch sticking on the ground and more for on tap for tomorrow. I don’t know if I can explain how precisely it makes me both stressed out to no end as I drive and attempt to drive and try to get up our stupid driveway, and also so FREAKING STOKED that it is all I can to not to give this up and just go roll around in it. SNOW. There’s a reason I tolerate this darkness, and the reason is something sparkly that falls from the sky, that I get to pack and mold and slide upon. Gonna poem that and go to bed, and get ready to go do more adultish stuff tomorrow.

Snow Now

Snow. Ice and scraping. Snow! Horrible day, but snow.
Stressful and snotty and sliding, but SNOW. Let these crystals on the glass remind you,
about the big slide. Let the crunch and fart of the small inches on this the frozen ground remind you,
that yes, you can mold it, you can sculpt it into shapes and weapons,
but that also it controls you, and this sparkling dust can take those tires, all-terrain or not,
any which way it desires.

Which it can’t, can’t desire I mean. The big and instant slide and WOOSH,
doesn’t it if feel like your feet came sweeping loose from your hands?
Doesn’t each tiny slip feel like falling on the pond ice?

Tap, tap on the brakes,
tap them as soon as you realize you slowed too soon for the intersection.
It takes the warming to bring down the warning, of black water frozen hard on the asphalt,
it takes a warming trend, or lake effect, or arctic vortex met up on some site

to warm currents to make come down in flakes like this,
this fast and cold. Snow, now, all falling small on my eyes.
Snow all blending with the sleeping tears, with a bit of hiss on contact.
Snow now under my boots, crunching low

for the next long time under the big dark sky.


Happy Thursday, my poemfriends. Is it snowing where you are?