Poem: A Snowy Afternoon

Whose Woods These Are, ┬ęSukie Curtis, oil on panel

The Snowy Afternoon

That snowy afternoon a galaxy
appeared on your dog’s black back
while we talked. Stars took
their places, planets, whole constellations
gathered there, marvelous as a meteor shower,
until with a few friendly, unthinking strokes
I wiped the whole sky clean, and it
began to fill again. It seemed
the kind of tender beauty
too intimate to mention
just there and then, this galaxy
falling gently
onto your dog’s back.    

One of the Facebook’s features that I most appreciate is the way it serves up your own “memories” of things posted on a certain day in previous years. It makes for some interesting juxtapositions of past and present, such as a post of a rainbow from a few year’s back on a day when it’s snowing; or a post about snow on a rainy day, or full blazing sun.

That’s how I got reminded of this poem: first, by a gentle snowfall last year, when something about the snow reminded me of this poem I’d written years before (it was published in the Christian Science Monitor) and then posted on Facebook; second, by Facebook reminding me of that post this year.

Some things I am grateful to remember, and to be helped in remembering.     

                                                                                                                                                                                              

 

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