Yesterday’s snow is leaving us
thanks to today’s warmish sun.
the same snow that,
as it fell, strained the eyes of a
tired trucker searching for tracks
on the slushy interstate,
That snow that made the children next door
exclaim when they heard
school had been canceled on its account,
That snow that brought to the widow’s mind
the day her husband died,
when those flakes drifted down
just outside the hospital window.
That snow is now melting,
turning to beads and sliding down to the ground
in the field across the road,
giving the muddy corn stubble a peek.
The wet soil is starting to show through
that snow this morning,
and the field is starting to look like
a handmade lace cloth
draped over a dark walnut table
where all of us sit,
quietly sipping cider from bright green cups,
and folding our napkins into
smaller and smaller triangles.