It's Still Life

Fate, What Foolish Fate

Sometimes I think my path
is too close to the high road,

and then it’s
        too close to the low,

but I prefer the quiet
of snow underfoot, prefer
the quietness in dreams.

It masks the noise of sorrow.
Deaf to loss, and fright.

And then I wake, discover
there are no rainbows at night.

When I was a child,
it snowed deep and high, and
only crows mocked the wind.

Soil, a victim, kidnapped
by a snowdrift,
and snowflakes soft as butterflies
melted on our lashes.

First snow smelled of sunlight,
even in the depths of night.

I remember the first time
I saw blood-stained snow.
It was white,
and iridescent,

        and deathly quiet red.

Fate, what foolish fate.

Written for Miz Quickly’s Day 27 ref: a greeting card The Blizzard 1935 by Joseph Farquharson ©Misky 2021 Shared with #apoemaday on Twitter