“Snow Day”

For the third time in seventeen years
the University closes for snow--or so
the admin women tell me for this poem—

This morning three inches of snow balanced
along the telephone wires, death-defying
in the cold quaver of wind, then slip-sliding
into the orchard of snow-apple blossom
trees that lined the streets, spring in February,
like the morning the oldest child opened
the back door and saw on our red quince
the flowers of his first snow, how he laughed.
The storm is coming hard, they’ve sent us home
from work, the snow falls on, no telling how
much weight to bear, the boughs of the fir trees,
the branches of the bare trees bend down,
almost ready to break under the weight of our joy.

Minnie Bruce Pratt

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Creative Commons 2010