Snow Cream

Before we poisoned the rain,
I would headlong rush
into fresh fallen snow,
carrying sugar and cream.

Mixing shades of white
in my home-knit mitten,
I would feast on sweet
and ruin my dinner.

Now I send my grandchildren outside
only when suited up like astronauts
to explore a subzero landscape
that infects and irradiates

those who will never know
the taste of melting snow.

No decent snow yet in my part of North Carolina, just a few flakes that didn’t stick. Maybe this poem will encourage winter to visit.

It also appears in my Milkshakes and Chilidogs chapbook.