That Snow

That Snow

Yesterday’s snow is leaving us

thanks to today’s warmish sun.

That snow–

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.