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April 10 - Snowmelt

by Jason Wardell

                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                    *         
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              
                                                              


It's been a long winter;
the chill grasping
for a hold on me,
year after year,
the chill creeping
into my hands,
under my nails,
where gloves
do all they can
but never quite
enough.

So I stand quietly,
a snowman against
a backdrop of white
and try to become
a hill, a mountain,
a fixture against
the snowscape,
seen but forgotten,
revered but ignored.
The
snow
first melted
in November
and I found us
where I only expected
leopards in the snow.

The prospect of winter warmth
replaced my fear. We ran.

So far, we've seen spring
in thick, stretching forests
with rainwater pouring around
and never a hint of a chill.
And yesterday it snowed:
an April blizzard goading
a return to winter habits,
a reminder of the chill
that creeps and grasps
and holds me down while
flurries accumulate to 
mountains of wet weight
and the freeze sets in
for better or worse,
usually worse.

But this unseasonal
snowfall
,
this brief excuse to remember
the fear of fear,
is already turned to water,
to mud and green grass.

And what
snow
remains
will fade from white
into whatever happens next.

04/10/2013

Author's Note: * No footnote.

Posted on 04/10/2013
Copyright © 2021 Jason Wardell

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/11/13 at 12:00 AM

None needed? Because this is pretty fantastic, sir.

Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 04/11/13 at 11:51 AM

*****This is quite a stellar piece indeed***** [[[THANK YOU]]]

Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 05/09/13 at 04:12 AM

I'm jealous of your weather, but I still think you need Portland. That said, yes. This. I enjoy it when you rant. Sometimes I think if you did it long enough, you would burst from the ground like a jack in the box due to the pressure being allowed to build up. I would probably pay something to see that (or read it).

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