311. The Promise of Birthday Snow

Heavy it seems
at times to wake
up, I’m sure, with
all the weight
that comes from
snow as light as
air but piled and
accumulated and
set into the form
of some docile
obese deity left
alone long enough
to become merely
statuesque but
not in a good way.

Heavy it seems
to think of, well,
just anything in
all its little
complications
and difficulties,
all those things
that come into
a life to keep
it running even
if you just want
it all to rest so
you yourself
could rest, not
even the body
but the mind.

There is no
spring it seems
or way to get
there from here
and I can say
I’ve looked
behind doors
for it and asked
around after it
but it’s nowhere
not at all and
a snow comes
down on us, a
snow that is
beautiful enough
but also heavy.

There is no
reason to expect
a change to it
because it all
continues as if
it’s always been
here even if we
don’t remember
it all and are
surprised by
our mere fact
on the fat and
cold ground
covered with
snow as it
usually is but
that gives us
some stability
and even a
way to stand
high enough to
see something.

It’s not that
this is all bad
or that a truck
doesn’t come
down the road
in front of your
house to push
the snow away
almost far enough
so you cannot
remember it or
even remember
anything else
you were trying
to forget until
you figured that
forgetting so
much of what
you’d lived might
leave you with
nothing to keep
and you thought
to yourself, “I
really need to
remember at
least something.”

It is not that
you can’t bear
the weight or
can’t even grow
a year older, yet
it all seems
quite surprising,
to be in a place
you think you
already had
been and to be
reliving a life
you thought you
had already
lived and to be
thinking of a
place you think
you might never
reach, maybe
because you
don’t recall its
name, and maybe
because you
already live there.