from "The Day Winter Gives Way"
       

Now it's December
and snow over
everything: even this
dirtiest city—
cellophane bits skittering
in the wind, crushed
paper cups, drops
of motor oil
along 23lst Street—
gets whited out. Which is

why I love
winter: one big do
over. "Start
from scratch;' my mother
would say: no
cross-outs, no mistakes
yet. Everything's
promise and possibility
for a full

five minutes. Which can be
a lifetime.
"Take as much time
as you need;'
the technician told us,
backing out of the dim
sonogram room—
the screen
had silently switched off—

but after five minutes
she came back
knocking:
other couples needed
theirnews—
good or bad or
try again. It was time.

I love the inconclusiveness
of snow: how it
hushes us, forgetfuls
us, dampens
and blankets and blanks.
It might mean
anything. Blank and
we don't know
what's under,
blank and for five minutes
all the world

now, all the words now,
covered over: all
forgotten, all forgiven.
Even my footprints,
feeble proof
I was here, disappear
in the hush-shush-shush as

snowfalls
so softly now
on snow.

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Copyright © 2016 Matthew Thorburn All rights reserved
from Dear Almost
LSU Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission