puffy round clumps
twirling and twisting
heaven-sent whiteness covers
not a school bus in sight.
pencils and papers left
for sleighs and snow pants.
chocolate milk cartons go untouched
as smiling parents bring steaming
marshmallow drenched hot cocoa
to frosted fingers in slushy mittens.
Snow angels and snow balls
friends racing down hills,
frozen moments affixed inside vibrant books.
backpacks and boots left
for slippers and beer
wine bottles go touched
as ping pong balls fly
mimosas and frozen pizza
warm the laughing masses.
Netflix and playing cards
friends snuggled on uncleaned couches.
young newborn wails
his tired parents affixed to the couch like the ice blankets stuck on the driveway
mama craving some fresh air but
too frail to open the door and let windy air stain her face,
papa tries to help, he shovels and shovels, breathes and breathes.
bags under her eyes, she nurses her baby next to the fire and dozes,
sweetest dreams of years later when she can dress her boy up
in bright blue snow pants and sled down the hill.
eighty-four years old she sits,
alone in a plush rose arm chair,
neighbors stocked the fridge
shoveled the sidewalk,
does not dare to go outside
yet looks longingly
at her covered back yard
where her children once would run in their puffy pants,
igloos and forts,
she recalled her own childhood,
the excitement and squeals-
as a young woman, she would mix-
snow with tequila,
she chuckled and sighed
as the neighborhood youths soared down in sleds
she opened up a dusted book,
and there she was
buried in the winter’s white gift,
a grin so bright,
as snowflakes fell on her frosted tongue.