All the Winters Before

Drifter, shimmer, whispers of frost

glitter, shiver, powder upon 

the weary-old wooden planks of the sagging porch

the curving hills that slope softly downwards

my fingers, covered with bulky black cloth.

It has been so long.

Swords of ice hang down house roofs and 

the back of cars.

We used to pluck them like

they were apples from the orchards

and wave them around above our heads

invisible magic, icy wands.

We used to build snowman and snowwoman

rocks for eyes and sticks for arms

always crooked, never polished with grace,

stained with dirt and grass-

but it was enough.

We flew down,

bouncing over bumps and ditches

snow in our clothes, our hair,

we froze, we did not care.

The sled was not a sled-

a magic carpet, a sleigh, a horse, or

reindeer?

The ground was not the ground-

a river, a ballroom, lava, the sky!

We used to sit on the swings

when it was almost dark

photo after photo

of the same two little girls

dragging sleds-

one blue, one pink.

Now I sit and watch the pines weep.