Flurries

January 13, 2017

I first tasted snow when I was five.
Frozen doilies, one after one, melted
on my tongue, tingling as ice cream.

When I was a teen on the track’s wrong side,
snow sanitized the rubbish
tossed out neighbors’ doors.
Rusted cars, embarrassed without wheels,
wore hoods of sparkling white
and every sore house looked like
a Currier and Ives.

You introduced me to ski slopes,
snow shoes, the deep peace of woods
in winter, hot chocolate kisses next
to a roaring fire inside
a cozy cabin. Sodden flakes
wrapped us in a snug cocoon.

Sometimes snow is like muffled silence
when we need to talk,
biting frost seizing my mouth
when I should say I’m sorry,
cold seeping through
cracks we need to chink.

I offer my pride as mortar.
I live on the hope snow signals:
to white out even scarlet wounds.

Markay Brown

Markay Brown, St George, Utah, was born an addict to the written word. A graduate of BYU, she began writing poetry at an age well beyond precociousness. How about 60? She won first place for her manuscript, Eve’s Child, in the 2014 Utah Original Writing Competition, Book-length Collection of Poetry, judged by Richard Howard of Columbia University. Markay and her poet husband collaborated on a book of poems titled, Blended. She serves as president of Redrock Writers, a chapter of the Utah State Poetry Society. Family, friends, reading, writing, music, and long walks in the red rocks make her happy.

RELATED POSTS