A Poem on the Ubiquitousness of Poems About Snow
A thousand poems have been written about snow--
Its deafening quietness
Its baptismal nature
Its whitewashing of the brown and mangled winter landscape
Until the world looks new without being spring.
So I can't say there's anything left to say about snow.
Other than that watching it--
Drifting--
I forget the world around me and usually end up with a burnt breakfast
Fixated like a child on this common wonder.
Writing about snow is like writing about love--
Others have done it
Often better than you
And so all you can do is not make it about love, or snow, but about you
And hope that you can at least write on that.
Mary Jones © 2003